


Revolution

by Gia279



Series: Human Monsters [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Activism, BAMF Derek, BAMF Stiles, Blood, Dystopia, Dystopian, Established Relationship, Everyone's a badass, Fighting, Flashbacks, Guns, I will Never top this honestly i love them so much, Kitsune, Knives, M/M, Mature rating is for violence, Nightmares, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Revolution, Scientist Lydia, Scientist Peter, Sheriff's name is John, Sleepwalking, Stiles has a reputation, Supernaturals are known, Therapy, These three are my favorites i've ever written, Vampires, Violence, dystopian au, fighting for a cause, werewolves are known
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2019-03-24 14:20:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 89,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13812990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gia279/pseuds/Gia279
Summary: Stiles turned into an open-ended hall and skidded to a stop, breathing hard. Alarms started blaring as the lab techs finally realized there had been an escape. Stiles braced himself, legs shoulder-width apart, as Derek rounded the corner. He was snarling and panting, mouth open around fangs that dripped with blood.It might’ve been terrifying once. Now it was just Wednesday.“Come and get me, baby,” Stiles whispered, holding his ground until Derek was only a yard away. Then he ran.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> SO! I'm done writing this (or at basically done, just tying up the end.) I'll be posting it as quickly as I can, so I hope you're ready for the end!!! :D I'm thrilled!! Yayyy! I'm done! Now time for my next gigantic project! As usual, thank you to my super great, awesome, wonderful beta, [rebekahdarian](http://archiveofourown.org/users/rebekahdarian).

**Prologue**

“We have not made enough progress in the supernatural safe towns to release them in good conscience. We must continue to keep the dangerous non-humans from our human citizens.” The president cleared his throat, glancing down at the notecards on his podium and away from the crowd of reporters and cameras. 

The reporters listened keenly, eyes squinted as they tried to read between the lines. Eyes skipped from the president to his security detail, to the vice president standing at his side looking smug and pleased. The First Lady stood silent a step behind them, observing the crowd with a somewhat glazed expression of boredom. Whoever had written the notecards for the president surely knew how to run the listeners in circles, as everything he was saying was basically reworded answers from earlier in the year. 

“When will the OWH release their prisoners who _aren’t_ dangerous? You’ve surely seen the video the Pack released last week, of the experiments they’ve been doing in their buildings across the country?” one of the journalists asked.

The president’s head jerked slightly, like a horse flicking off a fly. “Terrorist propaganda. They want to make you fear the people doing the right thing. It will only be a matter of time before the video is proven to be fake.”

Several of the reporters shared looks at this, ranging from disbelief to outright fury. The video didn’t _look_ fake: shot at chest height from the vest of a Pack operative infiltrating an OWH building and exposing various horrifying experiments in varying stages of completion. 

An older man in a cargo jacket began making his way through the crowd, silent and standing tall as he slipped through. He stopped when he reached the barriers separating the press from the stage, which was lined with men and women in uniform. 

“What do you plan to do about the Pack, Mr. President?”

All eyes turned to his face, watching him attempt to formulate a response. There was a barely perceptible movement and then a shot rang out, stunning the crowd into silence. Blood spattered the front row and the security detail lining the stage. They didn’t react as the president’s body slumped to the stage floor. The service man behind him turned and shot the First Lady next, before she could release more than a short, sharp scream. 

The old man in the cargo jacket stepped casually around the barrier. Security parted for him, and the vice president nodded, stepping back to allow him onto the stage and up to the podium. 

Too stunned to do more than watch, all cameras followed him and closed in on his face. 

Gerard Argent smiled at the crowd, at the cameras. “My fellow Americans,” he began solemnly, “I’m afraid we’re declaring a state of emergency.” 

 

**Chapter 1**

Stiles’s thumb was throbbing where he’d ripped the nail too short an hour and fifteen minutes ago. He pressed it into his palm to stop the pain.

“Well, Stiles,” Dr. Tate said, “is there anything else you’d like to talk about today?” Her voice was, as always, even and unruffled. She’d barely blinked when he’d told her a little about Nebraska, and for some reason that made it easier to tell her things, even though he’d kept the gory details to himself. 

“Nope. We already went over the nightmare of the night,” he ticked up a finger, “the guilt,” another finger, “and the feelings of uselessness. Think we covered everything.” 

“Miss Reyes wants to visit you today.” 

Stiles nodded, because he knew he had lunch plans with Erica. “What about Scott? And Cora?”

Dr. Tate’s mouth compressed a bit. “We still feel that it’s in your best interests that you only have one visitor at a time. They’re more than welcome to take turns.” 

Stiles sighed, flopping dramatically against the arm of the chair he was curled up on. “Jeeze, a guy has one little breakdown and he can’t do anything fun.” He winced. “Sorry. I know what I did was wrong.”

“You don’t have to apologize for your feelings, Stiles. I understand your impatience, but it will take time.” 

He jiggled his legs and leaned forward over his knees. “I just feel like I should be out here, helping.” 

“You know the Alphas have elected to remain locked down for the time being. There isn’t anything to help with at the moment.” 

He sighed harshly. “But we _should_ be doing stuff! Locking down the Pack just means no one is helping anyone!”

“The last thing the Alphas want is to leave anyone behind.”

“That’s what we’re doing, locked up safe here!”

The session ran a little longer after that, due to Stiles spewing frustration all over Dr. Tate, who soaked it up stoically, and then escorted him back to his cell for lunch. 

He flopped onto his bed, exhausted. He’d almost drifted off when the door unlocked from the outside and Erica came in.

“Hey. I’ve got food.” She held up the cooler in her left hand. 

He scooted off the mattress and onto the floor. “I’ve got crappy carpeting. Join me.” 

She smiled and sat across from him, setting the cooler between them. In the two months since they’d returned to the bunker together, her hair had only grown a little bit, so it still curled wildly around her ears and jaw, sometimes flopping into her eyes. The **W** scar on her cheek hadn’t gone away or become any less distinct, but then, neither had Stiles’s. 

“What’s for lunch today?”

“Turkey and brie sandwiches. And chips. How was your time with Dr. Tate?” She stuck her tongue between her teeth and popped open the cooler.

“As it usually is. What about yours with Dr. Bailey?”

“Boring. Nightmares. Flashbacks. Blah. Wah.” She handed him a wrapped sandwich. “I visited Boyd before I came by.”

He snorted. “I knew it. You like him more than me.”

“Never, lover.” She tossed him a bag of chips. “They’re letting him go back to work in the tech lab under the condition that he’ll be under constant supervision.”

“Oh.” Stiles ripped open his bag of chips and took one out. He studied it; it was possible that it held all of the answers to all the universe’s questions. It was also possible it was just a slightly stale chip dusted with nacho cheese. “Sorry.”

“What for?” 

“Getting him in trouble, I guess.” He bit into the chip, watching crumbs fall to the carpet with interest. 

“The way he tells it, he approached you.” She bumped their knees together amicably. 

“He did, but…only because I couldn’t come up with a sophisticated plan on my own.”

“ _That_ was your idea of sophisticated?”

He knew what she meant by _that_. “Well, it seemed so at the time. I wasn’t exactly stable.” 

“I know.” She was quiet a moment. “I wanted to visit Derek and Claudia yesterday.”

“They still aren’t letting you?”

“The entire lab is sealed off, even Lydia’s,” she muttered. 

Stiles sighed. “It’s because the others are still sick. Heather and Jackson and them.” 

“They aren’t really sick.” She was unwrapping her sandwich when Stiles’s head snapped up.

“What—what do you mean?”

“Well, they can’t actually be sick, can they? Or they’d have put them somewhere else by now.” She shrugged. “Whatever. I’ll get someone to let me in tomorrow.” 

Stiles picked up his own sandwich and started to eat. He hadn’t told anyone about Heather and the others because Talia—and Alphas Ito and Santos, by extension—had made him promise not to. They were like the rabids the OWH had created, almost feral and definitely not possessing of human consciousness, only Heather and the others like her had become that way naturally. Something had gone wrong when they were bitten, somehow, and had made them like that. The Alphas believed the Pack would panic if they knew. That they would think the OWH had infiltrated the Pack. 

Stiles hadn’t wanted to keep it a secret in the first place. He chewed thoughtfully, keeping his gaze carefully lowered. He could tell Erica. What else were they going to do to him? He was grounded indefinitely, locked in a cell for most of his days, and most of the people he knew thought he was a complete psychopath. 

“They aren’t sick,” he blurted.

Erica lowered her half-eaten sandwich. “I knew it! Brian said he totally saw-”

Stiles jerked. “Who?”

She blinked. “Brian Shaw? He’s a vampire, um, and our team rescued him at some point. He said he knew you. He gets his check-ups the same days I do.”

Stiles’s brows furrowed. “For what?”

“I don’t know. He said some hunters grabbed him with a group of others and that you guys saved them before they could get them to one of the prison camps. You don’t remember him?” 

“No, I—I remember him. I just forgot.” Stiles looked down at his sandwich, eating it without tasting. He did, in fact, remember Brian Shaw, and he remembered, now, why he was getting check-ups on the regular. He thought he even knew how he was going to get out of being stuck here. 

When she was cleaning up, Erica frowned, pausing. “Hey, Stiles?”

“Yeah?”

“Weren’t you saying something about the sick people in Peter’s lab a minute ago? When I mentioned Brian?”

Stiles looked at her. “What? Oh. I was just agreeing with you. Sorry.” 

She shrugged. “I figured it was something like that.” She folded their sandwich wrappers carefully and set them in the cooler. “So, see you tomorrow? Same time?”

“Of course.” He smiled. “Thanks for coming to visit me.”

“Anytime, lover.” She brushed a kiss over his scarred cheek. “Bye.”

“Bye.” 

Scott came in as she was leaving. “Hey, buddy.”

“Hey.” 

He lifted the portable DVD player he had. “Want to watch a few episodes of _Being Human_?”

“I can’t believe you don’t find that show completely insulting.” Stiles moved over to make room for him on the mattress. 

“Why would I? They didn’t know when they were making it that we actually existed. Or, if they did, that’s why everything is so ridiculously wrong, to keep the secret. Either way, it’s a funny show, and we’re two seasons in.” He crawled onto the bed next to Stiles and balanced the DVD player on his stomach angled so they could both see the screen.

“Where’s Cora?”

“Where she always is: the gym. She’ll come by tomorrow after she visits Derek, or tries to. They don’t let anyone in anymore. How’d you and Derek get them to let you guys in before?”

Stiles yawned and let his head roll onto Scott’s shoulder. “Dunno.” 

Scott took the hint and went quiet, turning his attention to the show, which he’d already started. 

After Scott left, Stiles talked to Boyd for a while, through the little windows on the doors of their cells, until Isaac showed up.

“Oh, hey.” Stiles’s gaze darted to Ally’s cell—her name was actually Allison _Argent_ , which he had to keep reminding himself—but Isaac didn’t even glance in that direction.

“Hey!” He smiled tightly. “Mind if I come in?”

“Of course not.” Stiles stepped away from the door to let Isaac in. 

He had a large, rolled up mat under his arm; Stiles knew it was one of the ones used in the gym and that it was essentially the weight of a baby elephant, but Isaac didn’t seem to notice how heavy it was. He’d been training with other people since Stiles had left, but he still came to Stiles’s cell to get some practice in. 

Stiles figured it was more for his own benefit than Isaac’s, and he appreciated it. It gave him something physical to do, something to keep him from getting out of shape and from going out of his mind with unspent energy. He looked at Isaac’s face and frowned. “Are you okay?”

Isaac blinked and focused on him. “Yes. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Stiles knew, thanks to Boyd and Allison, that he hadn’t gone to see Allison even once since the Pack discovered she was an Argent. They had been tentatively dating prior to the reveal, and Stiles got the sense that Isaac was avoiding the issue rather than dealing with it. But if he didn’t want to talk about it, Stiles wasn’t going to try to force him. 

“Okay. Wanna get started?”

“Yes.”

Stiles lifted the mattress so it leaned up against the wall, leaving Isaac space to spread out the mat. It would still hurt if he hit the wall or sink, but at least it was a precaution. 

Isaac had improved _drastically_ since he joined active training. Talia had put him on Laura’s team temporarily, since they were down three members. 

“Protect your middle,” Stiles reminded him, rocking back on his heels. His cheek throbbed with phantom pain.

“I am—I will. There’s a lot to remember,” he muttered, frustrated. 

“That’s why we practice so much. Soon, you won’t have to remember. It’ll be instinct.”

“That’s what everyone says.” He sighed. “Laura took me to the knife room this morning.” 

Stiles winced. “Oh? How’d that go?” He slid his feet apart, bracing, and gestured at Isaac.

“Okay. She’s not a bad teacher, and neither is Leah.”

“Good. Come on.” He shifted one foot back. “You’re telegraphing your moves,” he added. “Don’t do that.” 

“I’m working on it.” He rushed him, angling for his left side, which he’d seen coming and dodged easily, sighing in frustration. 

“Okay, try again. I’ll stand on this side.” Stiles moved around and lowered himself. “Don’t worry about hurting me. Even if you do, it’s not like I’m busy and don’t have time to heal.”

Isaac grimaced. “That isn’t exactly encouraging, Stiles. I don’t _want_ to hurt you.”

Stiles rubbed the back of his head. “Alright. Just show me what you’ve learned.” 

They sparred until Isaac’s watch beeped loudly, which meant it was time for his training at the gun range with Scott and Stacy.

“Have fun,” Stiles said, trying not to mope. 

“Yeah, sure. Do you know when they’re letting you out?” Isaac’s voice was sharp with impatience, but it didn’t seem to be directed at Stiles. 

“Eh, maybe soon.” He was glad Isaac was still a relatively new werewolf and not great at detecting lies. 

“They shouldn’t be keeping you locked up. It’s not…” He stopped to take a couple deep breaths. His temper was surprisingly short as a werewolf. “Fair,” he finished lamely.

“Yeah, well, I’ll survive. Plus, I did something bad. This is the consequence for that. I knew that before I did it.”

Isaac nodded even though he was still glaring at the floor. 

They’d had this conversation already, so Stiles wasn’t surprised by the outcome, just saddened. Isaac had always been like a younger brother to Scott, Cora, and Stiles, and lately it felt like he was just…letting him down.

“See you tomorrow,” Isaac muttered as he left.

As soon as he was out of the hall, Boyd asked, “Did you hear the news?”

“What, that they’re releasing you? Yeah, man. Congrats.”

Boyd scoffed. “Not that, the _actual_ news. The president was assassinated today.”

“ _What?_ ” 

“So were a ton of higher ups in the government. The vice president is in with the Argents, just like you said.”

“Which ones?”

Boyd paused. He’d been ignoring Allison with unwavering severity since they’d been locked up, and it didn’t change now. 

Stiles sighed. “Who did you see?” He couldn’t blame him for resenting her; her family imprisoned and tortured people like him and his family and had been for decades.

“Gerard Argent was there when they killed the president. He said they’re declaring a state of emergency. As far as I could tell, several of the security detail, including the Secret Service, were hunters.”

“Son of a bitch.”

“Most of the people left in the government are in some way related to hunting families or the OWH at least, and all of them are under control of the hunters anyway. The vice president is technically supposed to take over, but for all intents and purposes, it seems like Gerard is taking control.”

“How?” Stiles choked. “How did they manage-?”

“The Pack has been operating for generations, even before supernaturals were out in public. I assume this plan was in the works for just as long, if not longer.” Boyd sighed heavily. “It was just a matter of getting the upper hand, public support, and the right timing. They had to make humans fear us, then just keep escalating things.”

“What about Kate?” Stiles asked, remembering her fight with Brielle Banner.

“I didn’t see her in any of the videos.” 

“She wouldn’t have been there. She’ll be rounding up everyone else, preparing for an aggressive take over when they meet resistance.” Allison’s voice was cold, even as she spoke of her own family. “Probably taking care of anyone who might get in their way.”

“Too many hunters now,” Stiles muttered. “They’re outnumbered.”

“By far,” Boyd agreed.

Stiles rubbed his face. “How long until the Alphas lift the lockdown?” 

“Too damn long,” he muttered. 

Stiles couldn’t agree more.


	2. Chapter 2

John brought Stiles breakfast the next morning, sitting on the floor to eat with him. “Sleep well?” he asked carefully. 

“Nightmares. It’s a wonder Boyd and Allison can sleep at all.” 

He grimaced. “I’ve been talking to Talia and Ian…they might be willing to be swayed about this cell if you agree to move back in with me.”

Stiles nodded, picking at his toast. He’d just tuck that piece of information away for later. “Do you know Brian Shaw?”

John frowned thoughtfully. “I think so. Rescued vampire, decided to stay instead of moving on to a safe haven. Looks kind of nervous all the time.” 

“Yeah, I think that’s him. Have you talked to him at all?”

“Not really. Why?”

He shrugged. “Dunno.” He flicked his gaze at John’s face, then away. “Just remembered being there when he was rescued, him and the others. He was in my nightmare last night.” 

“I see.” John sighed sadly. “There’s no possible way for you to save _everyone_ , kid. You know that, right?”

“Yes. I just wish it were an easier goal to achieve.” 

“We all do, kid.”

Stiles scooped up some eggs. He focused on his breakfast in an effort to hide his thoughts, scared John would pick up on them before he had a chance to talk to Dr. Tate and Talia. “How’s Isaac’s training going?” He asked mostly to fill the silence, since he saw Isaac basically every day. 

If John knew it, he didn’t act like it. “It’s fine. He’s learning quickly. It helps that Scott, Laura, and Cora are all his pack mates and helping out with the training, too.”

“Good. I’m glad. I was worried.” 

“When are you not?”

Stiles rolled his eyes and broke his toast in half. “Yeah, lately I guess that’s true.”

They were quiet for a little while. John asked, “How did she look?”

Stiles glanced up sharply, then away. They hadn’t talked about Claudia since he’d returned with her, Derek, and Erica, and Stiles knew John hadn’t gone to see her. He wasn’t sure if it was because he hadn’t tried or because they hadn’t let him. “You know. The way all the rabids look. Except she has a scar on her cheek like Erica, me, and D-Derek.”

“Right.”

Another silence fell as they continued eating.

“I don’t understand,” Stiles said slowly, once he’d finished, “how she’s alive.”

John shook his head. “I don’t either. Derek saw her get shot.” He sighed and lowered his head a little. “He was eight, though, and far away.”

Stiles nodded. “Might have been a tranquilizer.” He started picking on the dead skin on his lip. 

“That would make the most sense.” He grimaced. “Son, I know you probably don’t think highly of me for this, but I haven’t—can’t—haven’t been to visit her. Haven’t been able to work up the nerve.”

“I don’t think less of you, Dad. It’s been twenty-one years that we’ve thought she was dead.” His lip started bleeding as he ripped away too much skin. “Plus, seeing her like this, it’s not—not like it’ll help or that she’ll even know you’re there.”

“Is that why you haven’t asked to see Derek?”

Stiles flinched. “No, that’s…” He sighed. “Probably true.”

“I thought so.”

“I had to drive with him in the back of that van for days. He didn’t recognize me, and he didn’t…he just wasn’t Derek. I didn’t see even a flicker of recognition in his eyes.”

“I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “I’m just saying, you’re probably better off not seeing her like that before they find a way to cure them.”

“I wish they would find it faster.”

Without thinking, Stiles said, “I’m sure they’re just missing something.”

John’s eyes narrowed. “Like what?”

“Dunno.” He tried to keep his shoulders from stiffening.

“I’m sure you don’t. Well, with Peter confined to his lab, it’ll probably be soon. Never came up against a puzzle that man couldn’t solve. He’s quite a few years younger than Talia, you know, so I knew him when he was a teenager. He hasn’t changed much.” He laughed a little, lifting a hand. “Even without the house arrest, it wasn’t as if he left the lab that often, but punishing him by keeping him away from the lab wasn’t going to help anyone.” 

“Does he ever go back to his room?”

“I think he sleeps in the lab. _When_ he sleeps.”

“There’s that.” Stiles sighed and curled his knees up to his chest. “Dr. Tate will be here soon.”

“Yeah, I’d better get going. I’ll let you know what happens with Talia when I talk to her about you leaving here.” He got up slowly, grabbing their used plates and silverware.

“Is she going to lift the lockdown soon?”

“You know as well as I do that she can’t make those decisions without all three Alphas being in agreement. Why do you think things always move so slowly? Satomi’s always been overly cautious, but it was balanced out by Talia’s swift-to-retaliate personality and Yolanda’s temper. It always worked before, keeping everyone safe and working.” 

“We can’t sit here forever.” Stiles tugged on his fingers anxiously. “Now that the Argents have taken over, how long will it be before they start executing any supernatural they find or they’ve already got? Why bother with pretenses now that they’re in control?”

“The Alphas know that. They’re preparing and deciding what comes next.” 

“What comes next is mass murder,” Stiles muttered. 

John squeezed his shoulder, something he’d been doing a lot less since Stiles got back; he wasn’t sure if it was because of what he’d done or because he was afraid Stiles would break. Either way, it was depressing as hell.

“I’ll see you tonight, okay? We’ll have bacon cheeseburgers for dinner.”

“Dad.”

“Alright, alright. Just the bacon. No cheeseburger.”

“ _Dad!_ ” 

John laughed and shut the door behind him. 

Stiles wiped his nose on his sleeve and bounced his toes. Dr. Tate would arrive soon to take him to the showers with clean clothes and a towel. He just had to wait.

“Good morning,” Dr. Tate said as she opened the door, ten minutes later. 

“Morning.”

“Have you eaten?”

“Yeah, Dad brought me some breakfast.” 

“That’s great.” She stepped back from the door to let him out into the hall. 

Stiles nodded, following her toward the shower at the end of the hall of cells. “I have to talk to you,” he said, once they’d reached the bathroom. 

“Well, you don’t _have_ to.” 

He narrowed his eyes at her, but her expression didn’t change. He suspected she had a very dry sense of humor that slipped through her professional mask every now and then, but he couldn’t prove it. …Or Stiles was trying to find a way to relate to her and was grasping at straws.

“No,” he said at last, “but I want to.”

Surprise flitted across her face, followed by a small smile. “Okay then. We’ll talk.” 

He had a feeling she wouldn’t be smiling once he _started_ talking. He’d wait until after his shower, just in case he got locked up again after his talk. At least he’d be clean. “In a minute.”

“I’ll be here.”

He felt a little bad, but not enough to rethink his decision. He cleaned up quickly and thoroughly in the shower, taking a few minutes to shave afterward. They’d only recently started giving him razors again, so he could shave away the patchy mess on his face. He wasn’t sure what gave them the idea that he might hurt _himself_ , but he guessed they’d relaxed about it now. Thankfully. He was starting to look haggard. 

“So,” Dr. Tate said, once they were settled in her office. “What did you want to talk about?”

“My release,” he replied promptly.

She looked surprised again. Twice in a day and under an hour. He was on a roll. “I see. What brought this on?”

“I need to speak to Talia. And…” He shrugged. “I had an idea last night. Or an epiphany? I don’t know.” He shrugged. 

“About what?”

Stiles hesitated. “The rabids.”

Her brows perked. “Really? What about them?” 

“I need to talk to Talia.”

“Whatever you tell me is between the two of us unless you tell someone else, Stiles.” 

“I need to talk to you both at the same time, then.” 

She frowned. “Stiles-”

“Or we can sit here and stare at each other.” That was risky, because Dr. Tate wasn’t the type to rise to threats. “I just want to help,” he said cautiously. “And to do that, I need to talk to you and Talia at the same time.”

She studied him closely. She reached behind her chair for the phone on the wall, pressing ‘1’ without looking. “Hello, Alpha Hale. Mr. Stilinski would like a word. No, he is insisting on telling us the details at the same time.” She hummed and thanked her, then hung up. “She’ll be here soon.”

Stiles breathed a sigh of relief. He knew how lucky he was; there weren’t many people who Talia would drop everything for just because they called. A privilege of being close with her, he guessed. It hadn’t offered him much in the way of special treatment, so he was a little surprised she’d agreed to come. He suspected she was worried he’d kept something from them when they questioned him his first week home. 

The only things he’d kept from them were the explicit details about Nebraska and that he knew what they’d injected Erica with. The former was from shame, the latter because he didn’t know if Erica had told them or not. 

They’d know soon enough either way.

Talia’s hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail, and her face was paler than Stiles had ever seen it. She looked as tired as she had when she first took over the Alpha position from her mother. “What is it?” She sat in a chair near Dr. Tate. “Are you alright?” she asked more gently.

Stiles nodded, ashamed that he’d worried her when she already had a lot going on. “Yes. It’s just—I think I’ve figured out…I mean, I might know what direction we need to go to cure the rabids. And the…” He stopped, staring into Talia’s eyes and hoping she would pick up on what he hadn’t said.

“Really? And what direction is that?”

He shook his head. “I—sorry, this is really shitty—but I want you to let me out. Not on the field!” he added before she could shoot him down cold. “I want to move in with my dad, and help in Peter’s lab. I’ll still talk to Dr. Tate, and keep a schedule, but, but—I have to do something. And I believe I can help, a lot.”

She studied him, her eyes narrowed shrewdly.

“I know you need everyone you can get helping,” he said quietly. “And I already used to help in there, so I know what to do and it’s not that big a risk.”

“Why don’t you tell me what your theory is, and I can decide once I’ve heard it?” 

Stiles shook his head. “I’m sorry. I can’t do that.” He picked at his pinky nail. “I want you to promise to let me out to help in the lab, and to move in with my dad.”

She bared her teeth just a little. “Tell me what your theory is, Stiles. It might be something we’ve already considered.”

“You haven’t. Promise.”

Dr. Tate shifted uncomfortably in her chair.

“Stiles, tell me. Now.” Her eyes flashed red and she surged forward, fangs bared threateningly.

“Alpha!” Dr. Tate barked, but Talia didn’t back down.

Stiles shook his head. “No! I can’t just sit in that cell anymore! I want to help! I can help, if you’d let me. If you don’t want to cure them, all of them, fine. Chance it and leave me in there if you want.” He shrugged. “But _I_ want them cured.” He crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat. 

Talia’s nostrils twitched with her next inhale. She suddenly looked tired and old, resting her elbows against her knees. “Fine. Fine.” She threw her hands up. “But if Peter thinks your theory is wrong, you’ll be out of the lab. But you can move in with John either way. I hope you’re right,” she murmured. “We can’t leave them like that any longer.”

“I agree.”

She nodded and stood. “Finish your session with Dr. Tate. I’ll have your things moved back to John’s place and let him know that you’re moving in. For the first bit, I want you either there, here, or Peter’s lab, do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“Good.”

Later, some guys from the lab came by Dr. Tate’s office to escort Stiles to the lab. He still wasn’t allowed to walk around by himself around the bunker, which was fine. The lab was bigger, more open than he remembered, since Peter’s lab had been combined with Lydia’s to make room for Derek, Claudia, and the other rabids they couldn’t fit in Peter’s lab. 

Once he was let in, he could see them. Derek’s cell was closest to the door, with only a small window for them to look through, to keep it from being easily visible from the door. He was pacing, from what Stiles could see, but he didn’t want to look too closely. He’d seen enough on the way here. 

Peter, who was working in the area that used to be his own separate lab, looked surprised to see Stiles. “And here I thought Talia would keep you as far from me as she could manage.” 

“I sort of…struck a deal.” 

Lydia, who was leaning over a microscope, paused, looking up. “What sort of deal?” 

He took a deep breath. “I think I know where we’re going to find the cure.” 

Paige and Adam stopped what they were doing, too, as did several of the lab techs. 

“Oh?” Peter only looked mildly intrigued, like he didn’t have such high hopes. 

“Some supernaturals have been immune to the serum that makes them rabid. Brian Shaw. Erica,” he said after a moment of hesitation. “Last night, I think I figured out what they had in common.”

“What’s that?”

“Well, they were both turned-”

“So was Claudia,” Lydia interrupted impatiently. 

Stiles shot a glare at her, fierce enough that she straightened up, looking insulted. “And before they were turned, they were…sick, in some way.” 

Peter frowned. “How do you mean?”

“Brian told Scott he was diabetic when he was human, and when the hunters injected him, he didn’t turn. Remember, before Erica was bitten? She had epilepsy.” 

“Could be a coincidence,” Lydia said thoughtfully, crossing her arms. She glanced toward Jackson’s cell, though, a brief flash of hope on her face. 

“But what if it isn’t?” Stiles pressed. He stepped around a table to get closer, imploring them. “If they’re immune, maybe we can find a cure with them.” 

“We’d have to test it,” Peter murmured thoughtfully.

“Blood from volunteers?” Adam suggested.

“I can get the medical records, find people who were sick before they were turned.” Lydia ignored their questioning looks and peeled her gloves off, already crossing to her part of the lab, and her computer. 

“Alright. We’ll do that. Someone teach Stiles to draw blood.”

“Eh—what?”

“You’ll have to do something. I assume part of your bargain was to help in here? So get to work.” Peter crossed to the cells on the far side, where Sara and the others were. 

Adam decided to teach Stiles how to draw blood, and even let him practice on him. They sat knee-to-knee in dusty, orange plastic chairs they found in a supply closet, near Adam’s work table. “It’ll be easier if you stop wincing before you stick me.” 

“I don’t want to miss!” 

“You’re afraid of hurting me? After everything you’ve done this year?”

Stiles glowered at him. “Yeah, well, that guy was hurting other people first,” he muttered, suddenly nauseated. He stuck the needle in, and, as expected, missed. 

“Okay. Try again. Stop shaking.” 

“Stop bringing up things that make me shake!” 

“Good point. Here.” Adam flapped a hand until Stiles looked at his face. He tapped a finger under his own eyes. “Don’t look away.” His eyes flashed bright silver, and everything in Stiles just…relaxed. 

“Whoa. How’d you do that?” 

“Leftover hypnosis ability from our hunting days. Try it now.” 

He managed to hit a vein this time, and draw blood into the practice vial. “Okay, that was gross.”

“Yeah. Okay, take it out and do it again.”

They practiced until Stiles could hit a vein every time. Adam’s arms were healing slower with each prick, bruises starting to appear and stay. He looked paler than Stiles had ever seen, his skin almost translucent. 

“I can, um, feed you, if you want. Since I’m the one who took so much blood.” 

Adam shook his head. “It’s fine. I’m going to go out there for lunch, anyway.” 

“Okay,” he murmured, leaning back in his chair. 

“We’ll ask for the volunteers after lunch,” Lydia decided. “If this does pan out, we should get started on making a cure with the results by tomorrow.” 

“Wouldn’t their blood be the cure?” Stiles asked, and once again found himself at the center of attention. 

“No,” Peter said simply.

“If it does, then we’ll try it first. We can’t rule out things like that,” Lydia said. “It’s not as if we’re operating with purely human disease here, Peter. The answer could be as supernatural as the patients.”

He snorted irritably and went to check on Sara. 

“I suggest we keep Peter’s lab closed off while we get the blood we need. We don’t need to hide Derek and Claudia, obviously, because everyone knows that they were changed by the OWH.” Lydia massaged her temples.

“Yes.” Peter moved on to Jeff’s cell, just poking in a moment to check on them, it seemed. 

Adam rubbed his face. “I’m going to get lunch. I’ll be right back.” He wound his way through the lab, careful not to jostle any of the tables. 

“Have you guys looked into the serum?” He winced and asked what he’d avoided talking about since he got back: “Did they even get it in Nebraska?”

“Oh, yes.” Lydia adjusted her hair. “It’s been useless so far.” 

Stiles nodded, frowning at the floor.

Adam was talking to the women guarding the door before he left, asking them if they wanted anything from the cafeteria while he was there. He leaned a shoulder against the door frame as they talked, falling deeper into their conversation. 

An enraged snarl had Stiles jerking to his feet, his right hand snatching at his hip for a knife that wasn’t there. 

Peter swore. “Catch her!” he snapped as Heather flew out of her cell, lunging for Paige and knocking several glasses to the floor.

Paige yelped and ducked under her lab table, kicking a stool at Heather to deter her. 

Adam and the guards raced over to help, but Heather evaded them, scrambling to catch her original prey. Paige let out a stream of curses, bolting for another table to shield her. 

Stiles lurched into Heather’s path, his vision throbbing in and out of focus. 

She paused, her eyes glowing that sickly yellow all of the “sick” patients’ did; her face was mostly human, patches of fur scattered across her cheeks and shoulders. Her teeth were sharp and her cheeks were split up the sides like her mouth was trying unsuccessfully to turn into a wolf’s muzzle. 

Stiles swallowed.

Heather roared and threw herself forward; Stiles ran left, leaping deftly over a fallen stool. She crashed right through it, her fangs snapping close behind him. His eyes skipped around frantically, landing on Peter, who was still holding the cell door open. 

Her snarls left his ears buzzing; he gasped as he felt claws scrape delicately over the back of his neck. He ran faster, ramming his hip into the corner of a table. He didn’t have time to feel the pain. He ran directly into Heather’s cell; she followed him, too enraged to realize she was trapping herself again. He spun around in time to see her lunge teeth first. He threw himself to the right and heard her slam straight into the wall with a painful-sounding _thump._

Stiles ran to the door, darting past Peter and into the lab. 

He locked her in. “Good job. Once we’re finished getting the blood, we might just make you their wrangler.”

Stiles straightened up, panting, and rubbed his aching hip. “Yeah, sounds like fun.” He would never admit that it _did_ sound like fun, just enough like a field mission to give him a shot of adrenaline. 

“Was that _Heather_?” 

Stiles turned, aghast.

Scott, Cora, Erica, and John stood in the open doorway, their expressions shell-shocked.

“What are you guys doing here?”

“We were hoping to visit Derek and Claudia, or at least to convince someone to let us,” Erica said stiffly. 

“I thought Heather was sick,” Scott said. 

“She is.” Stiles’s voice was weak. There went his shot at freedom. 

Peter sighed loudly. “Talia and the others knew it was only a matter of time.” 

“The others?” Cora barked. 

“The other Alphas.”

Stiles looked at Lydia; she was holding a syringe in a white-knuckled grip, her face pale and bloodless. 

“You’d might as well come in. Or go talk to Talia. Either way, you’ll get answers. Just standing there is taking up time we don’t want to waste.”

Stiles looked at his father.

John’s face reflected the righteous fury that Stiles had felt when he first found out about the secrets the Alphas were keeping from the Pack. “The Alphas all know about this?”

“Yes.” Stiles dropped his gaze, swallowing hard. 

“They kept it from us on purpose?”

“Yes. For their safety,” Peter gestured at the cells, “and the stability of the Pack. I feel it’s gone on too long, but that the decision was made with the best of interests in mind. The Pack deserves to know everything at this time.”

“We’re going to talk to Talia,” John declared, his shoulders back and head raised. “If she doesn’t tell everyone, we will.” 

Erica looked at Stiles. “I heard you think you know how to help them.”

“He might. Go now. We’ll need you back later, for some blood,” Lydia said sharply. 

Erica looked irritated, but she followed when the others left. 

Stiles helped clean up the mess Heather had made, since it seemed like the only mess he _could_ clean up. Paige brought him an ice pack once all the glass had been swept up.

“For your hip. You’re limping.” She shrugged self-consciously, still holding the ice pack out. “You just pop it and shake it until it gets cold.”

Stiles took it cautiously. “Thanks.” He went back to his chair, squeezing the ice pack until the container inside popped, cold spreading from the center. He shook it, then propped it against the bruise forming on his hip. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. His head was spinning. 

If the connection he’d made resulted in a cure, it wouldn’t matter if everyone knew. It would be fine, since the patients would be well on their way to being cured. 

 

Talia showed up sometime after they left, steaming mad and ready to rip into whoever she came across first.

Peter mercifully stepped up to her as soon as she entered, drawing her attention from any of the lab techs. 

“You were _told_ to be careful, Peter, I explicitly-”

John, Cora, Scott, and Erica raced in behind her, all of them shouting at once. John’s voice rose above theirs. “It was _not_ Peter’s fault. The Pack should have been _told_ that something like this was going on, that some people were changing _wrong_ when they were getting bitten.” 

“That is not my decision to make!” Talia snapped. “I can’t make these decisions without also consulting Alphas Ito and Santos. We made the decision _together_ to keep this from the Pack!” 

“Then you’d better go consult them,” John said. “That way it comes from you guys, and not us.” 

Her eyes flashed red at the obvious threat, but she just said, “I will,” through her teeth.

“ _Today._ ” 

She and John glared at each other.

Stiles stood and stepped between them, because he knew both of them and they would have to keel over and die before one of them would back down. “Dad, why don’t you go with her when she tells the other Alphas that we need to tell the Pack? We need Scott and Erica’s blood right now, so they can stay here.”

“John, I keep my word,” Talia growled. “If I say I’m going to do something-”

At that moment, Claudia let out a yowl of rage, slamming her whole body against the door of her cell. 

Talia sighed quietly. “Come on then. We’ve got calls to make.”

Scott looked around, his face tense. “Why do you need our blood?”

“We’re going to compare it to Erica’s, for one,” Lydia said, rolling a cart near the chairs Stiles and Adam had used. “After that, Scott, since you’re in loop, you can help Stiles draw blood from the people we bring in.” 

“Are you in the loop?” Stiles asked, studying Scott’s face, then Cora’s, and Erica’s. 

“She told us. Some people requesting the bite weren’t turning or rejecting it.”

Stiles shrugged. “Basically, yeah.” 

Scott nodded and rolled up his sleeve. “Okay, then. How much do you need?”

“Fill one tube,” Lydia replied. She gestured at Cora to follow her to the printer. “I want you to help me with these. These are all the people we need to call in here for blood samples.” 

“Why do you need blood from these people specifically?”

Stiles explained his theory to them while he took blood from Erica and Scott, following Lydia’s instructions for labelling and storing carefully. Lydia and Cora began calling for volunteers as he talked and, soon, Peter’s lab was closed off and locked up again, and they were too busy to talk. 

“Talia wants to talk to _everyone_ in the rec rooms soon, and I heard that Danny’s going to put her on all the TVs while she talks in Rec Room A,” Tamara Nelson said excitedly while Scott drew her blood. “She said at seven pm. Do you think she’s lifting the lockdown?” She’d had asthma when she was human, too, which was just over two years ago, if Stiles remembered correctly. 

Scott hummed noncommittally. “You’re all done, Tamara, thank you so much.” 

“No problem! Anything to help, you know, make them better faster.” She took her carton of orange juice and slipped off to meet her best friend, Karen, by the door. She speculated loudly about what Talia wanted to talk to them about. 

“Why do we need so much blood? From so many people?” Cora asked quietly, while helping Lydia store the tubes.

“So we can make sure it happens with everyone who had a sickness of some kind, like Stiles suspects. And we need to find out whose blood will actually help, which is the best bet for a cure.” 

“Ah.”

Stiles went to Derek’s cell, glancing in the window.

Derek was pacing, completely human, like the others forced into this by the OWH. He snarled and lowered himself into a crouch, then sprang at the wall, roaring when he couldn’t get his claws into the cement. 

Stiles stepped back, wiping his eyes hastily on his sleeve. He hadn’t really looked in at Claudia since they’d gotten back to the bunker, either. He wasn’t sure what to do about that. He’d only been four when they thought she died. He didn’t remember her and, at the moment, she didn’t remember him, either. 

Dr. Tate would probably bring her up soon if he didn’t. Maybe she’d tell him what he was supposed to be feeling.   
 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOO! Celebratory chapter because technically I finally finished and it's been beta read and everything! Yay!

John had cleaned out Stiles’s old room of clutter—summer clothes, extra bedding, and the like—and helped Scott and Cora move his things in earlier in the day while Stiles had been talking with Dr. Tate. When Stiles got there later in the evening, Scott, Cora, and Erica stayed with him, even though their job had only been to escort him there. 

They all climbed up on the bed in his room, leaning their backs against the wall and stretching their legs out across the bed. 

“What do we do now?” Stiles let his head roll against Cora’s shoulder. 

She shifted closer. “We wait while the rest of the Pack finds out about the patients.” 

“Peter said the lab will be swarming afterward.” 

Erica nodded. “Of course it will be. People want to look, make sure their friends and neighbors aren’t being mistreated, see if they can help. And they’re nosy.” She laughed quietly when they all shot her offended looks. “They are, we all are, don’t try to deny it.” 

“Means a lot of foot traffic,” Stiles muttered. Peter was probably joking about Stiles being the patients’ wrangler, but if tons of people were in and out of the lab while they were conducting tests…

“And I doubt the group as a whole will be happy to find out they’re being kept in empty cells,” Scott said. “They don’t have beds or anything.”

“That’s because they tore them up when they had them!” 

“They’ll probably want them somewhere more humane,” Scott continued, ignoring Stiles. 

“The lab cells are the only ones strong enough to hold them.” Stiles would not be ignored. 

Cora patted his leg. “If they move them, we’ll volunteer to guard the doors. I mean,” she laughed a little, “if we can guide them through the streets of San Francisco, we can guide them through _the bunker._ ” 

“Yeah, I guess.”

Erica wiggled down and put her head in Cora’s lap. “Stiles, what made you think of us for the cure?”

“I told you. I realized you and Brian had both been turned, and were both sick before you turned.” 

She snorted. “Can’t believe you remembered that,” she muttered.

Cora started petting her hair, tugging at the short ends of it playfully.

Erica grumbled under her breath. 

Scott let out a quiet breath and leaned against Stiles’s left shoulder. 

“What?”

“Can hear people shouting.” He closed his eyes and pressed closer. 

“I guess she broke the news.”

Cora snorted.

“What?”

“Laura’s out there, hearing about it for the first time. She’s probably pissed that we aren’t out there listening, too.” She tilted her head back and forth. “And she’ll be pissed that we knew first and didn’t tell her.”

Stiles felt a little pinch in his heart. He hadn’t seen Laura since he’d left. She hadn’t come to visit him, and he’d been too scared to ask for her. 

Cora rubbed his arm. “She just doesn’t want to upset you. And she’s been busy training Isaac.” 

Scott laughed. “She’s trying to cram years of training into a few months. Does she know she’s just wearing him out?”

“She doesn’t want to think about it. He’ll eventually stop being afraid of her and run off for a break.” 

“It’s not like there’s anything better to do,” Scott sighed. “Not while we’re stuck here.” 

“Not yet,” Erica said. “I bet we’ll be plenty busy once they need our help with the patients.” 

She was right. 

 

**4 Weeks Later**

Stiles turned into an open-ended hall and skidded to a stop, breathing hard. Alarms started blaring as the lab techs finally realized there had been an escape. Stiles braced himself, legs shoulder-width apart, as Derek rounded the corner. He was snarling and panting, mouth open around fangs that dripped with blood. 

It might’ve been terrifying once. Now it was just Wednesday. 

“Come and get me, baby,” Stiles whispered, holding his ground until Derek was only a yard away. Then he ran. 

They raced through the hall, past doors that had swung shut when the alarms started. The new protocol had already been drilled into everyone’s heads. It’d only taken one missed door and a badly injured kitsune to drive the new rules home.

Stiles’s boots skidded in a little puddle at the hallway intersection, giving Derek enough time to swipe at his shirt, shredding it but thankfully not his skin. He swore and twisted to the left, counting doors until he got to six.

“Now!”

The sixth door opened as he flew past it. 

Scott rammed into Derek from the left, throwing him bodily back into his cell. He slammed the door. “Holy _hell_ ,” he gasped, grabbing for Stiles’s shoulder. “How’d he get out?”

Stiles shook his head, panting. “Dunno. I was going to the lab and found him chasing Foster. Led him back.” He dropped his head back, glaring at the cameras set up outside the cells. “Someone needs to be watching those at _all_ times. If they want to help, that’s what they should be doing instead of getting in Peter’s way. They,” he gestured at the cells behind him, “aren’t animals. They’re not in their right minds at the moment, but eventually they’re going to try the door knobs.” 

Scott snorted. “Someone probably left his door unlocked.” 

“And this is why we shouldn’t have people bringing them food that they aren’t even going to eat,” Stiles muttered. “Look at my shirt!” He twisted to look over his shoulder, trying to see the damage. 

“Well, Derek always hated that shirt,” Scott reasoned. “I don’t think that was the OWH’s doing.”

“Fuck off.” He covered his face, scowling briefly. “Your unending optimism pisses me off.” 

Scott smiled sunnily at him. 

Stiles sighed. “He had blood on his mouth. We need to see if anyone by the tech lab got hurt.” 

People had been understandably outraged when they found out about the patients, but they’d done what people of the Pack had always done: they got the fuck over it and started helping each other. Active teams who were going stir crazy finally had an outlet other than training people. Stiles, Cora, and a few others were given the job of keeping track of the patients, and Boyd had gone back to work in the tech lab. Stiles was still required to see Dr. Tate, who had to agree that having something to do was helping him stabilize. 

Foster was in the tech lab when they got there, letting Danny look at her shoulder. There was a deep bite in the skin, her shirt completely stained and ripped. 

Scott ran across the lab to help. “Are you okay?”

She scowled. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just need to let it heal, I’m sure.” She rolled her wounded shoulder. “Vampires get all the luck,” she muttered, glowering at Boyd.

“We don’t heal _that_ much faster.” He shrugged.

“Faster than this,” she muttered, wincing when Scott moved her shirt aside. 

“Look, it’s healing now that the shirt is out of the wound. I suggest you get something to eat though, speed the healing a bit.” 

She sighed heavily. “Yeah, alright.” The tech lab had a break room in it, so she didn’t have to go far. She got up, wincing, and walked away.

Danny waved at them a little awkwardly when they made eye contact. 

“How’s the news looking?” Scott asked.

“Bad,” he replied flatly. “You know those post-apocalyptic shows where everything is terrible and society is crumbling?”

Scott looked at Stiles, dismayed. “Yeah.”

“This makes those look like a vacation. Basically, if you aren’t helping the OWH—which is essentially just the government now—you’re against them. If you’re against them, they kill you.” 

Stiles swore. “We should be helping people, not sitting here on our asses.” 

Danny nodded. “Talia and Yolanda have been pushing to lift the lockdown, but Satomi thinks it’s too early.”

“She’s always been cautious,” Scott murmured. 

“Things are getting bad.” Danny looked uncomfortable. “I understand why she doesn’t want to act yet, but at this point, not acting is leaving our people to die.” 

Stiles nodded and looked at Scott.

“Well. Maybe she’s waiting for something.” He glanced at Danny hopefully.

“They executed a family of vampires in the street this morning. Waiting isn’t going to help anyone, not us, not them, not any of the supernaturals out there waiting for us.” 

Scott grimaced. The radio at his hip crackled before anyone could say anything else. “What was that?” he asked, pulling it off his belt.

“Megan let Heather out on accident. Cora’s already chasing down Kali, so we need someone to get Heather. She’s by the cafeteria. We’re about to hit the alarm _again._ ” 

“Alright. We’re on our way. Thanks, Joseph.” He looked back at Danny’s work station, where three different screens were airing three different news channels. His face went tense. “We have to go,” he muttered.

Stiles dutifully followed him out of the lab. 

Isaac met them by the cafeteria while the alarms were blaring and doors were being locked up. “Do you know where she is?”

“Somewhere around here, hopefully.” Scott tilted his head, tipping his chin down after a second to follow the sound. “She’s that way.”

“Well, who’s she gonna chase?”

Stiles sighed. “I’ll go. Don’t let her get me,” he muttered, rolling his neck. “Which way is she coming from?”

Scott gestured wordlessly. 

Stiles went down the hall east of the cafeteria, one that was badly lit and freezing. It was where they kept spare cleaning supplies and extra clothes during off-seasons. 

Heather was shredding a green jacket, bits of cloth dangling from her half-shifted fangs. Her head snapped up when Stiles got closer, her eyes locking on him. She dropped the remains of the jacket and snarled. 

Stiles whistled, high and piercing, so it echoed off the walls and ceiling.

Heather roared, clawing at her ears. It always took her a second to realize it was him making the noise hurting her ears. When she did, she charged. There were still bits of jacket in her teeth. 

Stiles turned and ran, bolting left down the main hallway. He didn’t know how she’d gotten so far from the modified cells, but he knew he was going to find out who the hell let Megan take food to the patients. 

“Stiles, you-!” Scott called and Heather leaped, tackling Stiles to the floor like a lioness taking down prey. 

His teeth clacked together painfully as they hit the cement; Heather’s claws dug furrows into his shoulders. He yelped and scrambled back, wiggling out from under her. She swiped out for his leg, laying open his jeans and the skin under it.

Scott grabbed her by the back of the neck and lifted her clean off her feet, holding her suspended above the floor.

She yowled like a furious animal, thrashing so hard that Stiles couldn’t understand for a moment how Scott hadn’t dropped her yet. He noticed blood coming from the back of her neck and realized Scott had dug his claws into the skin to keep her in place.

Isaac shot past them and threw open her cell’s door, then stepped back, pressing his back against the wall across the hall.

Heather growled, low and menacing, and managed to kick Scott in the chest hard enough to knock him off balance. She ripped free and charged at Stiles again.

He ran toward her cell, ignoring the burning of the cuts on his leg just long enough to pass the door.

Isaac shoved Heather in and slammed the door, bolting it with an irritable huff. “You’re bleeding.”

“I know.” 

They went back to John’s place so they could fix Stiles’s cuts up, and properly dispose of his shredded shirt. 

“Derek will be pleased when he gets better,” Scott observed, holding the ruined shirt up to the light. 

“If,” Stiles muttered. 

Isaac squeezed his shoulder. “When.”

“I just.” He sighed and rubbed his face. “It’s just taking longer than I thought it would.” 

“They think they’re on the right track. Lydia’s in the lab as much as Peter these days, so she must believe they’re close.” Scott dropped the shirt into the trash and returned to the couch to help with Stiles’s wounds. 

“Your leg isn’t too bad,” Isaac said, pulling the denim away from the cuts. “She didn’t get you too deeply here. Do you still want to spar?”

“No,” Scott said before Stiles could answer. “His shoulders need to heal up a bit before he strains them.” 

Stiles frowned. “They aren’t deep.”

“No, but they are in bad shape. They’ll never heal if you keep moving them.” 

Stiles glared at him.

Scott rolled his eyes. “So you help in the lab a few days instead of running around. What’s the big deal?”

“Nothing,” he muttered. “I just don’t want to _sit_ anymore.”

“You only _sat_ for two months. You and I both know that you need a lot longer to heal and recuperate from everything that’s happened.” 

“Dr. Tate says having a task has been good for me,” he shot back.

“A task, but not-” Scott took a breath and eased back. “I just don’t want you to push yourself too far. Your shoulders need physical rest to prevent permanent damage. I suggest lab work _only_ until they’re healed.” 

Stiles sighed. “Okay. Thank you. I’ll keep it light.” 

Isaac glanced between them, brows lifted. “Did you two go to _couples_ therapy or something?”

Stiles’s laugh burst out of him, louder for the surprising return of it. “No. We’re just trying not to push so hard and disregard each other’s feelings. What do you think?”

“I think you both sounded like robots.” Isaac shrugged. “Do you guys think you run over each other too much?” he asked cautiously.

Stiles twisted his fingers together in his lap. “Dunno. Dr. Tate said communication of what I’m thinking and feeling is important.”

Isaac nodded, his eyes dipping away. 

No one but Dr. Tate had asked about Nebraska. Not even Isaac had asked him if he’d really done _that_ , like everyone was saying. 

Scott stood up and brushed his hands off. “Second shift is taking over in a minute. I’m going to make us some lunch. Isaac, why don’t you put on a movie?” Scott had been doing that with increasing frequency as of late, changing the subject. Usually to food and something that led to naps. 

“Scott,” Stiles sighed, but Isaac was already eagerly perusing the DVD collection John had stored under the television that was probably as old as Stiles was. 

“Just sit and relax, it’s not like you have anything else to do today anyway. Dr. Tate won’t see you until before dinner, right?”

“Right.”

“Then you have time to sit here and watch a movie with us.” He cocked his head. “And there’s Cora. Get the door.”

The four of them piled on the couch and ate the grilled cheese sandwiches Scott had made. When John returned for lunch of his own, he found them mostly asleep on the couch, crowded together like puppies. 

“Just like you’re all sixteen again,” he sighed, ruffling Isaac’s hair as he went by.


	4. Chapter 4

Arms pinned his to his sides, panicking him for a moment until he felt a cheek press against his, chest to his back as it rose and fell in steady breaths. Stiles realized he was screaming and stopped, gasping and letting himself go limp against John. He took a second to match his breathing to his father’s, trying to calm himself down.

“I got you, shh,” he said, stroking his sweaty hair. “It’s okay.”

Stiles turned his face into John’s shoulder, fighting back more tears, though his face was already wet. “I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be, it’s okay.”

“Did I wake you up?” When he didn’t immediately answer, shame burned the back of his throat. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again. 

John shook his head. “You didn’t. I couldn’t sleep anyway.” He sat back, but kept one arm lightly around Stiles, careful of his bandages. 

Stiles wiped his face on his shirt and realized he was in his own bed, not the couch. “Did you move me?”

“No, Cora did. They all left sometime after midnight,” he added.

Stiles frowned. “What time is it?”

“Around five AM.” 

He cringed. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright.” He let go cautiously and climbed off the bed. “I’ll go get you some water. Your throat probably hurts.”

He nodded, keeping his gaze lowered. If it wasn’t screaming nightmares, it was sleepwalking. Dr. Tate said it was normal, but he still felt bad, like whatever was broken in him couldn’t be fixed. Plus, his dad was getting as little sleep as he was, and that wasn’t fair.

John returned with a glass of water. “Want to talk about it?”

Stiles accepted the glass. “It was Erica.” He took a drink to soothe his raw throat. “Sometimes it’s Derek, too, or Scott, Cora, or Laura, even Isaac or you, but mostly the team.” 

“What about them?” 

“In my dream, I’m…hurting them.” In the nightmare, he was taking them apart piece by piece while they begged and pleaded, but he just couldn’t stop. 

John nodded. “Have you told Dr. Tate?”

He shrugged. “Yeah, mostly.”

“Mostly?”

He drank more, to occupy himself. “I haven’t told her the exact details, but I’m sure she knows already. She’s pretty smart.”

“Son, let me tell you something. You know I think you’re a bright kid. But you’re being pretty dumb.” He brushed a hand over his head affectionately. “Telling her the details isn’t so she knows them,” he said in a slow, pointed tone.

Stiles scowled at him. Sighed. Drank more water. “Yeah, I know.”

“Okay, then. Tell her, maybe she can find a way to help you.”

“With the sleepwalking, too, I hope,” he mumbled. “I feel like a six-year-old.”

“Well, it’s your turn to make breakfast, six-year-old,” John said, smiling. “You wanna make it now, or in an hour?”

Stiles groaned. “Might as well make it now,” he muttered. “It’s not like I’ll be able to get back to sleep anyway.” 

“Good. I’ll meet you in the kitchen in thirty.”

Stiles grunted and waited until he left the room to press the cold glass to his cheeks and forehead. 

 

Dr. Tate seemed pleased that he wanted to tell her more about his nightmares; she didn’t react much to the details, which meant Stiles was at least right about her guessing them, or so he was going to tell himself. 

“I think we should try imagery rehearsal therapy,” she said. “Do you know what that is?”

“No,” he replied slowly. “Am I supposed to be acting out my dreams? I wouldn’t feel comfortable doing that.” His heart pounded in his chest at the very idea. 

“No, Stiles, that’s not what IRT is. It’s a way that may help stop or lessen the impact of your nightmares. If you still don’t want to do it, we can try something else.”

Stiles chewed on his lip a second. “Okay. What is it? I mean, what do I need to do?”

“Well, the first thing is to just write down a brief description of the nightmare. It doesn’t have to be the one from last night if that’s too upsetting for you. Any recurring one will do.” 

Stiles nodded and accepted the pen and notebook she passed him. “I’ll do the one from last night.”

“Just a brief description of it,” she said. “No one will read it but you.”

“’Kay.” He grimaced, annoyed, when his hand shook as he set the pen to paper. He started writing. He supposed it should’ve been harder to recall the details of a dream from hours ago, but the specifics were burned into his brain. It spilled out of him easily once he got started, like a dam had broken. He sat back in his chair, wrung out, when he finished. He glanced at Dr. Tate. “What next?”

“Think of a way to change the dream.”

Stiles frowned. “What?”

“Think of something that will make the dream more pleasant for you. Alter it. Anything that makes you feel calm and safe.”

“Then what?” he pressed. Almost anything was more pleasant than the original nightmare. 

“Then you visualize the more pleasant scene in detail. Paint a picture in your mind. It will work best if you set a few minutes aside each day to paint that picture and visualize.”

“You—what, imagine something else for five minutes, call me in a week?” he sputtered. 

A tiny smile curved her mouth. “No, you can do the visualizing here, if you prefer, and we’ll obviously still have our daily sessions.” She tipped her head forward. “You should be as detailed as possible. When I say paint a picture, I mean it. What color shirt are you wearing? Shoes? Socks? If you visualize the pleasant scene, it may help reduce the frequency and effect of your nightmares.”

“What if it doesn’t?” What if he was beyond fixing?

“Then we try something else.”

Stiles sighed through his nose, trying to pretend he wasn’t a little bit relieved. “Alright. What should I picture?”

“Whatever you want.”

He glared at her before shutting his eyes and leaning his head back. The start of the dream flashed on his eyelids like a movie, him opening a lab door, slow and deliberate. But he was awake now, and could control what happened next. _Visualize,_ he reminded himself, and set about changing it. 

 

Stiles met Scott and Cora at Peter’s lab after his session. Cora’s face looked flushed, which meant she had just finished yelling at someone. He stopped a few feet away, just in case. “Hey.”

She whirled on him. “ _Hey._ Talk to him. He won’t listen to _me_.” She flung her hands at Scott, her eyes flashing. 

They rarely fought, so Stiles looked at Scott for help, confused.

He sighed. “She’s mad because I said-”

“Ha!” She stomped away, heading right for Lydia’s desk and muttering something at her. She grabbed up a tray Lydia gestured at and took it to another desk.

Stiles looked back at Scott. “Why’s she so mad?”

He shook his head. “It’s not a big deal. We-”

The alarms started blaring, and someone in the hall shouted, “ _Megan,_ no!” 

“Later,” Stiles muttered. 

Scott snatched up his radio. “We’ve got it, Sal,” he said. “We’re already by the cells.” 

“Would someone _please_ put Megan on trash duty or something?” Stiles shouted. 

Jessa met them in the hall, looking grim. “Jackson got out.” She brushed a hand through her hair. “Megan’s being taken to Talia for this. We think it’s an accident every time, but if she’s doing it on purpose, we have to put a stop to it.”

Stiles looked at Scott, who stared back. “It’s not a big deal, and he’s not as fast as Heather. I can lead him back. Then I won’t do anything but lab work until you say it’s clear.” 

Scott frowned. “Alright. Try not to let him catch you.”

Stiles made a face at him. “It’s Jackson. I’ve had plenty of practice running from him for my entire childhood.” 

Scott lifted his hands. “Fine.”

Stiles went where Jessa said Jackson had gone, down the rabbit warren of halls that stretched through the bunker. Heather hated whistling, but it didn’t bother Jackson nearly as much. Stamping feet and loud, solid bangs were what got him pissed enough to chase.

“Come on, dickbag, where are you?” He found deep grooves in the wall leading down the left hallway, so he followed them. They could’ve been old, but he doubted it.

A gentle, near-silent scrape from above his head made him squeeze his eyes shut. He kept walking, though, swallowing thickly as his heart tried to jump up in his throat. He’d forgotten that Jackson, unlike the others, could climb up the walls. 

Sara tended to attack straight away, and Heather wanted to destroy; they all had their own things they did, but it was hard to remember that when observing them through the cell doors, as they all seemed to be exhibiting the same symptoms. 

Jackson growled, loud and menacing, before he dropped to the floor in front of Stiles. His tail lashed around like an angry cat. 

“Ugh. You’re somehow uglier every time I see you, dude, not gonna lie.” Stiles started backing up slowly, feeling his way with his heel. 

Jackson made a creepy clicking noise with his front claws as he advanced, head lowered between his shoulders. Patches of scales flaked off as he moved, revealing human skin beneath, like he was shifting partially back. Maybe he would shift back all the way. Stiles wasn’t sure he could outrun Jackson the lizard creature, but he _knew_ Jackson the human wasn’t as fast as him. 

“Yeah, come on, ugly.” He hoped Scott would stay back. There was a reason they only sent one person to be bait at a time: more than one and the patient tried to attack rather than chase, right off the bat. It was just easier one at a time.

Jackson grumbled and started running—galloping? He was using four legs—so Stiles did the same, backwards at first. He turned when he reached the turn in the hall, so he wouldn’t trip over his own feet. 

He rounded the corner to the hall of cells and shouted, nearly colliding with Derek. “Shit-” He bolted out of the way, the edge of Derek’s fangs scraping over his cheek. 

Derek and Jackson roared and tackled each other, the sound deafening as they collided and fought. 

“Ah, fuck,” Ry said, skidding around the corner. “Fuck, sorry, Stiles, he heard Jackson. I guess he was a more interesting target.”

They observed the two fighting for a moment, watching as more scales flaked off Jackson.

“Alright,” Ry sighed. “I’ll go in and grab Derek. You get Jack’s attention and run before Derek can get out of my grip, okay?”

“You got it.”

Ry inched closer, waiting until Derek twisted and pinned Jackson. He lunged, grabbing Derek by the shoulders and slamming him into the wall. 

Stiles stomped one foot hard on the floor, grinning when Jackson’s head snapped toward him. He stomped again, his boot making the noise echo satisfyingly. 

Jackson roared and gave chase. 

 

After they were back in their cells, Stiles and Scott met Cora in the cafeteria, eating with Kira, Laura, and Jordan. Isaac didn’t seem to be there, but he could’ve been in training.

“Hey.” 

Stiles tried not to twitch too obviously when he nodded back at Jordan. He wasn’t supposed to be in the cafeteria. Not only because Talia still didn’t want him walking the bunker outside of rounding up loose patients, but also because crowds still overwhelmed him. The crowd in the lab was one thing; it was controlled, focused chaos. The cafeteria was a place for unwinding and goofing off, and everyone acted like it: loud and chattering, all moving around at once, banging their trays and dishes all over the place and it was just…too much. 

Laura glanced at Stiles and away just as quickly. “Shouldn’t you be in John’s place for lunch?” she asked, picking a fry off her plate. 

Stiles swallowed, dropping his gaze. “Yeah, I should. I’ll just—I’ll go.” 

Scott caught his wrist. “No, stay. Laura, come on. What’s your problem?”

“I don’t have a problem.” She looked up at Stiles, her expression neutral. “If you can handle eating in here, be my guest. Not my job to tell you what to do.”

Tears pricked his eyes, as mortifying as they were surprising. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, no, this is too much, you’re right. I’ll just go eat at home.”

“Stiles,” Cora began, but he shook his head.

“I’ll see you in the lab after lunch.” He could feel people staring as he left. By this point, people knew—or had guessed—the details of his disappearance and they were all curious. Curious and, in some cases, afraid. Some of them thought he was unstable, ready to kill anyone standing too close, because he could. It didn’t seem to matter that most of them had known him his whole life, or that any given field operative was in as much need of therapy as he was. He was the one who’d left against orders, whose actions were so gruesome they ended up on the news, who was on house arrest because after all that _he’d come back._

He left the cafeteria and started walking, his appetite thoroughly lost. He was already out of where he was supposed to be, so he kept walking. He didn’t realize just _how_ overwhelmed he’d been feeling until he felt the temperature begin to drop and he relaxed. 

The bunker was almost always cold, but the mostly-unused prison cells were colder, no matter the time of year. 

Allison’s cell was the only one occupied now; she was the only one being imprisoned as a precaution rather than a punishment. “What’re you doing back here?”

Stiles sat down outside her cell, leaning back against the door. “It’s quieter here, I guess. Isn’t that stupid? I bargained to get out of that damn cell.”

Allison was quiet a moment. “That makes sense.” 

“How so?”

“You had more structure in the cell. Outside, anything can happen to change your schedule. Bound to make you anxious occasionally, even if it normally helps.”

Stiles grunted and scratched at the scab forming on his leg. “So have you…would you have…”

“I’ve never helped my family do anything. Never passed information to them, either. I’ve never wanted to.” She sighed. “I wanted to leave the Idaho facility before my family made their yearly rounds of the facilities. I couldn’t—I wasn’t sure what they knew about where I’d been since I ran off when I was fifteen.” 

Stiles leaned his head back against the door. “I don’t think I’d believe you, if Isaac hadn’t known you as a teenager.” 

“How is he?”

“Training.” He squeezed his fists on his knees. “He hasn’t said anything about you.”

“I figured. He feels lied to.”

“Yes.”

Allison tapped on the floor from somewhere near the door, like she was sitting right behind him. “How did you find out about me?”

“I ran into your father—Chris Argent. He was posing as a liaison to find you.”

“A liaison.”

“He was doing well, but he had kept some pictures of himself with your mother and aunt.” 

“Sloppy,” she murmured.

“Very.”

“How long was he playing liaison?”

“I’m not sure. He said he left the OWH to find you, so I guess since you left. He really did seem to be out of it. Victoria didn’t seem to know where he was.”

“You talked to her, too?”

“Well, we were trying to stab each other at the time, but yes.” Stiles rubbed his face, trying to erase the memories of the conversation, of what came after. “She got away,” he added generously. “So did Kate.”

“I heard. Too bad,” she said coldly.

He lifted his head. “Oh, really?”

“Out of them all, they have the most control and influence. Their survival means they can do more damage.”

“Like kill the president and most government officials? Take over the country?”

“Yes, exactly like that.” 

They stayed quiet after that. Stiles thought Allison probably appreciated the company, and he knew he appreciated the calm. And, he could admit to himself, he liked being around someone who didn’t think he was either a monster or breakable. Everyone treated her like she was a traitor, too. She knew what it was like.

After a while, Stiles left. Scott and Cora would probably be looking for him by now, panicked that he’d gone off by himself while upset. He found them in the lab, looking tense and being generally unhelpful. 

“Hey,” Cora said with palpable relief. “Where’d you go?”

“For a walk.” He rolled his shoulders. “How was your lunch?”

“Fine. We ate and then we went to find you.” She narrowed her eyes at him. 

“I was walking.”

“I heard you the first time.” She nodded at Scott. “We have to deal with him now.”

“What about him?”

“You don’t have to _deal_ with me.” Scott crossed his arms. “There’s nothing to deal with.” 

“Scott has volunteered to be a guinea pig,” Cora said sourly.

Stiles frowned. “What do you mean?” 

“Come on. Adam explains it better.” Scott beckoned them both to Adam’s work station.

“Not ready yet, Scott,” he mumbled, dripping something carefully onto a slide.

“Can you please just tell Stiles what we’re going to do?”

Adam huffed and straightened up. “Why? Is he your parental guardian? Do you need his permission beforehand?”

Scott stared at him until his shoulders slumped. 

“We’re going to inject Scott with the serum the OWH has been using to turn supernaturals rabid, and monitor his response. We’re close to creating a cure and need to make sure we completely understand how it works before we test the cure.”

“And who do you plan to test the cure on?” Stiles demanded. “How do you know Scott won’t turn into—them?” He gestured behind him, toward the hall. 

“We’re reasonably convinced everyone who was sick before they were turned is immune. Given the tests we ran on Scott’s blood already, proving that the serum didn’t affect him, there are slim to no chances that he will change.”

“But-”

“Stiles, you know everything you need to know now,” Scott said sternly. “I volunteered. They can’t use Brian or Erica, because they were already injected with the serum, so who knows if the test would work?”

Stiles glowered at him. “Fine.” He looked at Cora. “Are you going to let them inject you, too? As a control? Maybe test out the cure?”

She poked him in the center of the chest hard enough to knock him back a step. “If I made that choice, it would be _my_ choice, not yours!” She exhaled. “But it seems pointless, since we have plenty of patients we can test on.”

Stiles pressed his lips together and dropped his head, guilty. “Okay.”

“You’re such a jerk,” she sighed. “Why do we put up with you?”

He chose to ignore that. “Who _are_ you going to test the cure on then?”

Adam rubbed his face. “We’re thinking Sara, since she can handle most, if not all, of what we throw at her.” 

“Oh.” Stiles grimaced at the floor. “Right.”

“Now that your foot is firmly lodged in your mouth, I think we should go out in the hall for patrol. It’s our turn,” Cora added. 

“We’ll call you over the radio when we’re ready, Scott.” Adam sounded miserable. 

Stiles hesitated, but there wasn’t anything he could say. He and Adam weren’t close; the only thing they had in common were the people they cared about that were locked in the cells. “Thanks,” he said awkwardly.

Cora grabbed his arm and towed him away, heading for the doors. 

“Cora, Stiles can’t patrol. He’s going to be helping in here until his shoulders heal.” Scott stepped in their path, blocking them. “He can help Peter, Lydia, or Paige, but he shouldn’t do anything too strenuous.” 

Stiles sighed. “I’ll go carry things for Lydia. See you guys later,” he muttered.

Lydia passed him a tray of labelled tubes. “Take them to Peter. People with things like dementia or cancer are still affected when the serum is administered. Sufferers of asthma, diabetes, epilepsy and the like are never affected. Take it now.”

“Okay, okay.” He took the tray and ventured deeper into the lab, where it used to be bisected by the doors to Peter’s private lab. 

He was hunched over his table, scribbling on a notepad without looking away from the blood samples he was examining. 

“Lydia sent more.”

“Set it to my left. Is Scott ready?”

“Well, I guess, but Adam said-”

“We aren’t yet, yes, I know, and that’s still correct. Here, take these to Paige.” He lifted his notes and started writing more on the pad under it. 

Stiles took the papers. Most of his help in the lab ended up being delivery work, shuffling back and forth with trays, papers, and carts. It wasn’t too bad, once he got in the rhythm, because he had a task, at least, and it kept his mind and hands busy. 

Then Adam called for Scott.


	5. Chapter 5

“It shouldn’t hurt.” Adam wiped the bend of Scott’s elbow with an alcohol swab. “We’re going to draw blood before and after we inject you to compare and see what changes, if anything. We’re going to monitor your vitals, which is why we hooked you up to these machines.” He gestured stiffly at the machines next to Scott’s chair, which was a big, black leather recliner. “We’ll know if anything changes.” 

Erica had come to the lab a few minutes prior, while Adam was hooking Scott up to the monitors. She was hovering by his chair, next to Stiles. 

“We will compare both to Erica’s blood. If what we think will happen does, we will have the answers we need.” 

Stiles’s hand clenched on the back of Scott’s chair. “And if it doesn’t go the way you think?”

“Then we keep working.” Adam flicked him a brief glance. “Scott, do _you_ have any questions?”

“No, I’m good.”

Cora scoffed loudly. 

While Adam drew the ‘before’ blood, Stiles started pacing. Lydia snapped at him to keep away from her desk, so he went back to standing beside Erica. 

“Do you need more from me?” Erica asked while Adam was sealing Scott’s blood tube.

“No, we’ve still got enough of yours from this morning to do the tests we need to do today.” 

“Oh.” She huffed and leaned back, crossing her arms. 

“Are you ready?” Adam asked. 

“Yep.” He leaned his head back and smiled at Stiles. “I’m ready.”

Stiles was not ready. He wasn’t ready for Scott to be as mindless and violent as Derek, Heather, or Claudia, or any of the others. 

Adam prepped the syringe wearing thick gloves. He irritably shooed Cora back as if concerned he might somehow miss Scott completely and get her on accident. 

Scott closed his eyes when Adam bent to inject him; Stiles grabbed his other hand impulsively, squeezing once and then holding on. He flinched when the needle pierced his skin, then again as he began to depress the plunger. 

Stiles squeezed his hand again as the heart monitor began to beep wildly with his fear. 

Cora came around to squeeze his arm, too. 

“Please try to stay calm so we can get accurate results.” Adam waited until Scott looked at him. “You’re not going to change.”

He nodded, swallowing audibly. “Okay.” 

Adam nodded, too. “Alright. Cora said you guys watched a movie last night. What movie?” He sat on the rolling stool by his table and wheeled close. 

“Um, _Pacific Rim_.” He looked confused.

“I never saw that. Tell me about it.”

Scott’s brows furrowed, but he told Adam about the movie, briefly at first. Then, with prompting, he went into detail, which he could only do because he’d seen it with Stiles so many times. 

Stiles realized what Adam was doing once he took the ‘after’ blood and Scott was still talking, completely calm. 

“Thank you, Scott,” Adam said. “You can rest there for as long as you’d like, but I believe any danger of changing has passed. We’re going to compare the blood now.”

“Oh, alright. Cool.” When he rolled away, Scott’s breath whooshed out of him. “I was afraid I was going to try to eat your faces off.” He spoke quite cheerfully, but the monitor attached to him gave his fear away. 

“Even if the serum changed you, I doubt you’d have attacked anyway,” Cora scoffed. “You’d have just run around making a mess and making us chase you.” 

“Sounds fun.” Scott checked the injection site, but the wound had already healed, leaving the skin unaltered. “Guess Adam was right. I am immune!” He froze then, face twisting oddly.

Stiles looked at Erica in panic. “Do—Scott, do you feel-”

He sneezed explosively, making the three of them jump. He burst out laughing. “Oh, god, I’m sorry!” He kept laughing, apparently unable to control himself. 

Stiles punched his shoulder. “That wasn’t funny!” 

“I didn’t mean to sneeze, Stiles, it’s not like I _planned_ it!” His laughter was infectious, though, and soon all of them were falling over each other in hysterics. 

Adam, who was examining the post and prior blood he’d gotten from Scott, made a low noise in the back of his throat.

“Let’s go in the hall,” Cora whispered, reaching down to unhook Scott from the machines. 

Stiles watched him carefully as he got up, but he was moving fine, not stiffly or like anything hurt. He guessed that was the best they’d get for now. 

“I feel fine,” Scott assured them in the hall. “Really. I didn’t think I would but honestly, there’s nothing wrong with me.” 

“Good.”

Erica kept looking at him, her eyes narrowed and suspicious. “Stiles, what gave you the idea for the cure? Or the immunity or whatever. What made you think of it?”

“You were there. I told you before—you mentioning Brian Shaw made me think of the similarities. Why are you asking now?”

For a second, she looked afraid. She blinked it back. “Nothing. Just seeing shadows everywhere now, I guess.”

“Oh.” Stiles knew what that felt like. 

Scott’s radio squawked. “Yeah?”

“Something weird is going on by the cells. Can you go check it out?”

“Sure.” He beckoned to Erica and Cora.

Stiles sighed. “I’ll just wait here.”

“Thanks, buddy.”

He shrugged and leaned back against the wall. If no one had escaped, it wasn’t like they needed help. He supposed he could go back in the lab and see if Adam had discovered anything with the blood. 

He’d just wait until Scott and the rest returned. The lab techs weren’t in any urgent need of help; plenty of people were ready and eager to assist, which was how the patients kept escaping in the first place. 

The lab door flew open before they returned. Adam glanced at Stiles, wild-eyed. “We think Scott’s blood and the serum will cure the patients.” He shook his head. “ _Anyone_ who is immune. We think. So far our theories have been right since you noticed the immunity pattern. Immune supernatural blood combined with the serum…” 

“Are you going to test it now?”

He nodded frantically. “We’re going to go prep Sara. Peter wants everyone there so we can make sure she doesn’t get out.”

“I’ll let them know.” Stiles hooked his thumb over his shoulder where they’d gone. 

“Great, thanks.” He went back into the lab, leaving the door hanging open.

Stiles shrugged and went to get the others. He’d believe the cure worked when he saw it.

Adam and Peter went into Sara’s cell together, while Ry, Scott, Jessa, Mike, Cora, and about fifteen others, including Stiles, gathered around the door. They formed a physical barrier in case Sara got out, though there wasn’t much chance of that. 

Adam locked his arms around Sara, pinning her in place so Peter could get close. He had a syringe full of blood in hand, uncapped and ready to inject. 

Sara made an odd, open-mouthed growling noise, wet and gurgling. She kicked and thrashed, managing to hit Peter on the shoulder, not that it made much of an impact. Adam’s grip remained firm. 

Peter ducked in close and injected the blood in her upper arm like a flu shot. “Okay,” he murmured.

Sara shook her head and thrashed harder, bare feet slapping the cement when she could reach. 

“I’m—I’m just going to hold on for a sec,” Adam grunted, squeezing her tighter so she couldn’t get her arms up. 

They watched. Peter backed up and righted the bed Sara had flipped and partially destroyed, moving it until it was flush against the wall.

Sara’s struggles changed after a moment, slowing and becoming jerky. She panted like a tranq’ed rhinoceros, shaking her head and sinking into Adam’s hold. She started shivering, her eyes hazy and half-lidded. 

“Set her on the bed,” Peter said quietly. “Now, Adam.” 

He lifted her, swinging her legs up into his other arm so he could carry her to the mattress. He set her down with all the care usually afforded newborns. 

She continued shivering, her gasps turning loud and painful. Foam gathered in the corners of her mouth and her eyes rolled back, body convulsing violently. 

Adam turned his head away, closing his eyes.

Peter brushed his fingers against his arm, drawing his attention back. 

Sara gasped once more, one noisy, rasping breath, and went still. Her body relaxed onto the bed, her breath quieting as if she’d fallen to sleep.

Stiles looked at Cora and found her staring back with an identical expression of shock on her face. 

“Get Paige. I need a saline drip,” Peter snapped. 

“What happened, though?” Jessa asked after Mike had run to get Paige. “I don’t understand.” 

“The blood seems to have acted like a tranquilizer. Until Sara wakes up,” Peter sighed, “we can’t test it on anyone else. We have to know what’s happened to her before we continue.” 

Adam stared at her for a long moment. He didn’t move until Paige arrived. Then he slipped out of the cell, around the crowd, and back toward the lab. 

Stiles rubbed his cheek. 

Scott nudged him. “C’mon.”

The hall emptied at a trickle, like no one wanted to leave. Like they thought just waiting around long enough would let them see something change. 

Stiles hated that he felt disappointed. His hopes had gotten up without his permission. That’s what he got for thinking it would be that easy. 

Before they got back to the lab, the alarm started going off. 

“Shit,” Scott muttered, grabbing his radio. “Who is it?” he barked. 

“Ah…all of them,” Sal said awkwardly. “Except Sara and Jackson.”

“Ry!” Stiles called, before he could round the corner. “We’ll have to organize. There’s thirteen of them.” 

“Cora, go find Derek,” Scott snapped. “Erica, get Kali. Ry, get Jeff, Jessa, get Penny. Haley, the vamp from San-Fran.” He continued barking out orders, leaving Cora, Stiles, and Erica slack-jawed. 

“Well, where the hell did _that_ come from?” Stiles sputtered as everyone scrambled around to find their charges. 

Scott hesitated. “It’s faster if people are told exactly and directly what they need to do. Stiles,” he added, “only Claudia and Heather are left.” He grimaced. 

“You take Heather,” Stiles decided impulsively. “I’ll deal with—her. Where did she go?” Once someone with a better nose directed him, he took off. He found her by the desk near the entrance, tearing through the empty drop off crates. “Hey, Mom.” It felt weird to call her that. 

She whipped around, snarling.

Stiles hadn’t faced her at all yet. Scott or Cora were always quick to volunteer when she got out. She got out often.

Stiles wasn’t sure how, but she’d figured out how to get her door open without breaking it, even though it was locked and bolted. She was crafty, he guessed. 

Scott claimed that it was just the family resemblance coming out.

“That’s right,” he whispered. “Scott thinks he’s funny. He means that I used to be a troublemaker, too.” 

Claudia stepped out of the mess she’d made, licking her fangs. 

Stiles bobbed his head. “Come on. I don’t know how to provoke you like I do the rest. Scott’s laughing somewhere and doesn’t know why. That is ironic, but we’re never telling h—oh, fuck.” 

Claudia leaped at him from a standstill, claws reaching out in front of her like a cat going for the kill.

Stiles twisted and ran, leading her down the hall to his left—it led straight to the lab, but it cut around front of the gym. 

John stood at the end of the hall. “Who-”

“No, Dad,” Stiles gasped, skidding to a stop and nearly plowing into the wall. “What’re you doing out here? You’re supposed to lock up when the alarms go off!” 

“I was watching for any stragglers. Who’re you running from…?”

Claudia roared louder than Stiles had ever heard, bearing down and running at them. John stared at her, apparently frozen, his face white.

“Just—just back up, Dad, I’ve got it.” Stiles tried to nudge him away.

“No, I can do it. Get back.” John inhaled deeply and pushed Stiles gently toward the wall, putting himself between him and Claudia. 

She growled, scratching the wall like she’d become distracted by the grooves she was digging into the cement. 

“C’mon, Dee,” John said. “Let’s have a race. Bet I’m faster than you now.” Once he had her attention, they ran. 

Stiles followed at a distance, worried she might catch up to him.

When Claudia was safely in her cell, John continued to stare at the door. His cheeks were flushed, but he still looked pale, his eyes glassy and unfocused. 

“Dad?”

“Hmm? I’m going to take the rest of the day off.” He rubbed his eyes and backed up a step. 

“Alright. Do you want me to come with? We could-”

“Oh, no, I’m okay.” He hugged Stiles unexpectedly, squeezing so tight it felt like he was trying to break his ribs. “I’m just going to take a break. You finish up your stuff. I’ll see you tonight, okay?”

“Okay.” Stiles pressed his face into his shoulder for a second. “Love you.” 

“Love you, too.”

He watched John shuffle away, concerned. He’d known he wouldn’t be okay if he saw Claudia. It wasn’t like Stiles had been okay when he’d seen them. He should’ve been more careful, should’ve taken the long way, around the gym. 

 

“Hey, man, you okay?” Scott asked. 

All the prisoners were back in their cells, though no one could figure out how they’d all escaped at once. 

“Yeah, fine. Dad saw Claudia.” He couldn’t call her “Mom” seriously. He probably had at one point, but he didn’t remember. “He led her back here. I think he’s upset.”

Scott nodded. “Do you want to go home? There isn’t really anything to do now until we know what’s going on with Sara.” 

Stiles twisted his fingers. “Maybe. I guess it wouldn’t hurt to go home early.”

“No, it won’t.”

Stiles looked around at Cora and Erica. “Are you guys coming over for dinner later?”

“Nope. Having dinner with my mom, who claims we’re not over enough anymore.” Scott nudged him. “Go on. We’ll see you tomorrow. It’s already five-fifty, it’s not like you’re leaving _that_ early.” 

Stiles sighed and dragged his hands through his hair. “’Kay. Okay. I’ll see you later.”

“Yep.” 

He dragged his feet, stopping to peek in at Derek, then Heather, then Sara, who was the only one in her bed, tucked in like she was actually ill. Her saline drip completed the scene, like something right out of a soap. 

He managed to stall long enough that he didn’t make it home until about six fifteen. “Hey, Dad,” he said, pushing the door open.

John was on the floor in the living room, a half-empty bottle of whiskey on the coffee table surrounded by loose pictures and open photo albums. He wiped his face quickly and got to his feet, grabbing the arm of the couch to balance himself. “Ahem—hey, you’re back earlier than I thought you’d be. You want dinner?”

Stiles could see how hard he was trying to pull himself together, to act like he was perfectly fine. “It’s okay, Dad. I’m not four or five anymore, you don’t have to protect me from this. I know it’s hard for you.”

John stared at him for a long moment. The he gestured at the kitchen. “Grab a couple glasses, please.”

Stiles got them and returned, sitting across the coffee table from John. 

He poured each of them a glass. “We used to take a lot of pictures. Stopped doing that, I guess, but we just—wanted to document everyone. Every moment of normal we had, every good moment.” He smiled and picked up a picture close to him. “This was one of them.” 

Stiles took it. It was a picture of Claudia in a hospital bed, her face flushed and hair a mess, holding a tiny white blanket bundle in her arms. Melissa was standing beside her, grinning at the camera. 

“You were twenty-two and a half inches long. Mel used to call you our little burrito. The nickname stuck until you were walking.” He drained his glass.

Stiles did, too, and poured them each another. “Next?” He set the picture aside and looked at John. 

He smiled unsteadily and picked up another.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for flashback in this chapter

Stiles cut through flesh and bone with his favorite knife like he was chopping a carrot. Ray screamed so loud his ears rang. While he was still screaming, Stiles injected the anesthesia. He went to get the tools he’d need, the bone saw, the cautery, a scalpel. Ray was unconscious when he returned; the only sounds were Stiles’s jerky breaths and the steady _plink plink plink_ of blood dripping from where Ray’s finger used to be. Stiles used the cautery to stop the bleeding, nearly choking on the scent of singed flesh. 

He turned the bone saw on and started on his arm. Blood spattered hot across the apron and mask he was wearing, but he kept going until the arm was severed below the elbow. He cauterized it. Began again just below the shoulder. 

“Stiles!”

He jumped in shock, and he was in the kitchen, his thighs bumping the edge of the table. He brought his hands to his chest, feeling for blood spray he was sure was still there, but he only found the soft cotton of his worn pajama shirt against his palms. He could still hear Ray’s scream, echoing in his ears like it’d happened only seconds ago instead of months. His stomach clutched and he bolted for the sink.

John came up behind him. “Can I touch you?”

Stiles nodded, gasping and trying not to be sick again. He closed his eyes and shuddered when John started rubbing his back.

“Nightmare?” he asked softly.

He shook his head. “No, just-just-just.” He squeezed his fists. “Memory. I was coming to get some water and the sink was leaking and it sounded like-” He gagged, stomach heaving again.

When he was done, John said, “Go take a shower. I’ll clean this up.” 

“Dad, I can-”

“No, it’s fine. Kid, I’ve been cleaning up after you your whole life. I think I can handle this,” he said sternly. 

“Okay.” Stiles cleared his throat. “Thanks.” 

John nodded, already turning the water on. 

Stiles shuffled out of the room, waiting until he got to the bathroom let go. He collapsed in on himself like a paper crumpling in a fist and hit the floor with a muted thump, sobs shaking his shoulders. He curled his arms tight around his knees and let himself tip over. He pressed his wet cheek to the floor, gasping and shuddering. He was afraid to close his eyes, but leaving them open didn’t seem to be making it better, either. He blinked tears out of his eyes and swore he saw blood dripping thickly down the white cabinet. He blinked again and it was gone. 

After he’d showered and brushed his teeth, Stiles found that John had made eggs and cut up some fruit, and set the table.

“That’s the last of the fruit,” he said, nodding at their plates. “It was getting close to going soft, so I figured we’d might as well eat it.”

“Okay.” Stiles sat in his usual chair, dropping his gaze to his plate only because it seemed to cost too much effort to lift his head. 

“Want to talk about it?”

He looked up then. “No,” he whispered. “I was—it was just Nebraska again.” 

John nodded. His face was tense and tired, his hair matted down on one side like he’d been asleep.

Stiles frowned. “What time is it?” When he didn’t answer, he twisted around to look at the microwave clock for the first time. “ _Three?_ Dad, you can go back to sleep. You didn’t have to cook. God.” He rubbed his eyes to get rid of the sting. 

“It’s fine. I’m awake, I’m hungry. You’re awake and –well, probably not that hungry, but you’ll be better if you eat something.” 

Stiles put his head in his hands. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. 

“Don’t be-”

His head snapped up. “Well, I am! I’m sorry I keep waking you up at fucking weird hours and I’m sorry I can’t get better. I’m sorry I had to bring Derek and Claudia back like that. I’m sorry I wasn’t—wasn’t faster in Montana. I’m sorry.” He pressed his knuckles into his mouth to stop himself. 

“Alright.” His gentle voice made Stiles feel worse.

“I didn’t mean to yell.”

“I know.” He nudged his foot with his own. “Eat your eggs and we can try to get more sleep.”

“Okay.”

 

Scott was waiting for Stiles in the hall after his session with Dr. Tate. She assured him flashbacks were perfectly normal. He assured her that he was sick and fucking tired of them. 

“Hey, guess what?” Scott asked, eyes bright, practically bouncing on his toes.

“Wha-”

“Sara woke up!” he blurted before Stiles could finish. 

Stiles’s heart leapt. “Is she okay?”

Scott nodded. “Yes, yes, she’s confused but she’s awake and she can talk and understand what we’re saying to her, what Adam’s saying to her and that means the cure _works!_ ” 

“On the patients. What about the rabids?”

“Peter’s going to try it on all of them, now that Sara’s awake. He thinks it’s the best shot we have at curing them all.” 

“It took her three _days_ to wake up,” Stiles said doubtfully. “What if the others just…don’t wake up? How long do we wait until we realize they just aren’t waking up?”

Scott nodded again, slower this time. “I understand. But would you rather try this, our best guess, or leave them like that indefinitely?”

“I guess you’re right.” Stiles clenched his jaw. “Can we go see her?”

“Dude, that’s why I came to get you.” Scott squeezed his arm. 

 

Adam was in Sara’s cell and the door was open. 

Sara herself was sitting on the edge of her bed, kicking her legs back and forth lightly. She’d showered recently, her hair wet and trailing down her back, brushed for the first time Stiles had seen. She was staring at Adam with a somewhat blank gaze, a little like how she used to stare at the glass in the lab. 

“Hey!” Adam waved, weirding Stiles out. “I was telling Sara that we’re going to inject the other patients today.”

“That’s great.” 

Sara lifted her gaze slowly, staring over at him. She smiled, reminiscent of the cracked grin she would send his way through the glass. “I remember you.”

“Yeah?”

“You would tap your fingers to get me to chase you.” 

“Yes.”

She nodded, satisfied, and went back to staring at Adam. 

He rubbed his nose and said, “Peter will want to see you in the lab, Scott. He’s already got Brian and Erica in there. He needs your blood. Enough for all of the other patients.” 

“Alright. Do you want to come?” he asked, nudging Stiles.

He nodded and followed him.

Erica was in the leather chair Scott had used when they were testing on him. “Hey.” Her face was pale and her eyes were bloodshot. “Long night?” When Stiles nodded, she said, “Me, too.” 

Brian was standing across from her, licking the bend of his elbow. He noticed Stiles staring. “Just sealing up the puncture,” he mumbled. “I already gave blood.”

“You’re done.” Paige began unhooking Erica from the tubing. “Thanks. Scott?”

“Sure.” He patted Erica’s arm as she scooted by and sat in the chair she’d vacated. “How much do you guys need, exactly?” 

“Just enough to inject all fourteen patients, and a little bit extra so we can try to make a proper cure without having to drain you guys dry.”

Scott nodded and leaned back.

Stiles turned to look for Erica, sighing a little when he saw her. 

She smiled wanly. “Where’d you find yourself this morning?”

He lifted his brows at her.

She leaned against the counter beside him, sighing. “I woke up curled in a ball in the shower, holding my knife.” She rubbed her eyes. “Dr. Bailey says the sleepwalking could stop eventually.” 

“Ah.” He shrugged. “Woke up in the kitchen…at about three in the morning.”

She winced. “Ugh. I think I hate them more for the sleep I’m losing than what they did.”

“But do you really?”

She leaned her head against his shoulder. “No.” 

“Alright, Scott, you’re all done. Want to take that cart to the hall? It’s just saline and tubing and things we’ll need once all the patients have been given their injections.” Paige pulled off her gloves and dumped them in the trash can, getting up. “Just put it between Jeff and Penny’s cells, that’s central enough to make it easy to reach for us all.” 

“Got it.” 

Brian grimaced. “I think I’m going to head to a rec room or something before the crowd gets here.” 

“Crowd?” Stiles’s palms felt a little damp. “What crowd?”

Erica elbowed him lightly. “What, you think the whole bunker isn’t going to want to come gawk?”

“Well, I didn’t…”

“We’ll get out of here before they arrive,” she suggested. “Sneak off and get some pudding.” 

The three of them went into the hall; Brian split to the left while they turned right, following the scratches in the walls to the hall of cells. Scott was pushing the cart up against the wall and examining the contents still when they caught up to him. 

“You want to wait here while they do it?” he asked, studying Stiles’s face.

“Yeah.”

“You sure? You look kind of tired.”

He snorted. “When _don’t_ I look tired?”

“Point. Alright.” He patted his legs like he was uncomfortable. “Just remember how Sara looked right after she was injected, okay? Don’t panic.”

“I make no promises.” 

Scott sighed. “Well, here comes Peter. If you think you can’t handle it, let us know.”

Erica looked at him sideways. 

Peter, Paige, Lydia, Ry, and Jessa came into the hall, half of them armed with syringes full of blood. Peter apparently didn’t care about looking like he was showing favoritism. He and Adam went directly to Derek’s cell. 

Lydia and Paige, either following Peter’s example, or Lydia’s personal compass, went to Jackson’s cell.

Stiles and Erica moved first, shuffling closer to Derek’s cell. Scott hovered behind them, apparently worried one or both of them would panic. It was a valid concern. 

Adam grabbed Derek and held him against the wall, holding firm as he thrashed and roared furiously.

Stiles swallowed and put his arm around Erica’s waist; she slid her arm around his and leaned her head on his shoulder. 

Derek roared and managed to twist enough to bite Adam’s shoulder, making him hiss furiously. He shoved Derek’s head against the wall, pinning it there. 

Peter injected him while they were struggling.

It was similar to Sara’s reaction, the shivering and the lethargy; they didn’t get him away from the wall fast enough, so when he started convulsing, he smacked his forehead against the wall and split it open. 

Stiles winced, turning his face into Erica’s hair, and she dug her fingertips into his ribs. 

“He’s fine,” Scott murmured. “He’s healing already.”

Adam let Peter move Derek to the bed he’d righted, setting him down carefully and watching as he went limp. Peter studied his face with a clinical, detached expression. Sleeping, like Sara had been.

“You can go in,” Peter said tiredly as they exited the cell. “Scott, you can attach his saline drip while Adam and I go to Claudia’s cell.” He brushed a hand against the back of Stiles’s shoulder as he passed. 

Scott nodded and went down the hall to the cart. 

Stiles and Erica went into Derek’s cell together. Stiles pulled his arm back just enough to take her hand; she was shaking as much as he was.

Derek’s head was healed completely by the time they made it to his bedside. Blood smeared his face, just enough to trail down into the dips of the **W** scar on his right cheek.

Erica lifted her hand to touch her own matching scar. She pulled the sleeve of her sweatshirt down over her fist and used it to wipe away the blood, staining the gray material.

Scott came and hooked up the IV far quicker than Stiles thought he’d be able to. He left again just as quickly, bolting across the hall to help hook up the saline bags.

Derek didn’t react. He looked like himself again, with his eyes closed and no snarl on his mouth. 

“He’s gonna be fine.” Erica’s voice sounded congested, but when Stiles looked there were no tears on her face. “He’s gonna wake up and be annoying and make eyes at you and it’ll be fine.”

“Right.” 

Erica sniffed and said, “I’m gonna go find Cora. We’ll be back in a few.” She squeezed his hand once before pulling away.

Scott stepped aside to let her through before coming in himself. “Do you want me to go get you a chair?” 

Stiles shook his head. “Not right now. Scott…do you think they’ll remember when they wake up? I mean…Sara seems to. But the ones the OWH changed. Do you think he’ll remember them torturing him? And—everything?”

Scott moved closer, pressing their shoulders together. “I think there’s a good chance he’ll remember.”

“Yeah, probably.” Stiles swallowed against the lump building in his throat. “I wish he wouldn’t.”

“Can’t skip the healing process for him,” Scott murmured.

“Wish I could.”

“I know.” 

They stayed like that until Cora came to see him, trailed closely by Laura, Ian, and Talia’s sister. While the pack crowded in, Stiles slipped out. Scott followed him after a moment. 

They found Talia and John in Claudia’s room, speaking quietly by her bedside. John immediately turned to beckon them in when he noticed them. 

“Peter thinks three days is on the shorter end of the scale,” Talia said. “He doesn’t want anyone to panic if it takes a little longer than that for the others to wake up. Everyone is different.”

Scott nodded, nudging Stiles lightly.

He was looking at his mother; still and pale and relaxed, just like the rest of them. 

John was holding her hand.

Stiles had the urge to rip him away, even twitched a little to do it, but managed to stop himself. He didn’t even know why. There was no reason to; she was sedated and going to be unconscious for days, and then when she did wake up, she wasn’t going to be dangerous…probably. She wasn’t dangerous to anyone right at this moment, least of all John, who’d trained half the people in the room in combat. 

Talia looked at Stiles oddly, like she’d noticed the spike of adrenaline. “Have either of you been checking the news?” she asked.

“I have, every few days,” Scott replied. 

Stiles shook his head. “Stresses me out,” he mumbled, flushing. It was stupid to be embarrassed about something like that, but he was. It felt like a failing, unable to watch the news, see what was going on, just because he might have screaming nightmares afterward. 

“That’s fine. I just want you both to know that the lockdown won’t last forever. When it ends, we’re going to get back out there. That’s all.” She glanced at John and away, almost guiltily.

Stiles looked at him, too, but his face was impassive. He made himself let it go. He had other things to think about, like Derek and his own nightmares, flashbacks, etc. 

“Since everyone will be in here, we’re going to get lunch,” Scott announced. “While the cafeteria’s empty. We’ll spar with Isaac and Cora a bit. Give everyone time to gawk and get it out of their systems.” 

“Okay.” John squeezed both of their shoulders, then reached back for Claudia’s hand again. “See you later.”

“Yeah,” Stiles muttered, turning on his heel to leave.

It took Scott a second to follow. “You okay, man?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’re grinding your teeth so loud I can hear them down the hall,” Cora said, falling in step beside them.

The hall was crowded; word had spread, just like Erica had guessed, and everyone wanted to see if it was true, and if all of them were asleep.

“There’s a lot of people,” he mumbled, shuddering when he noticed the hall by the lab was crowded up, too. What if there was a fire or something? How would everyone get out?

Cora gripped his upper arm tightly, grounding him. “Let’s go to the gym. Isaac and Erica will meet us there.”

It wasn’t just Isaac and Erica. Jordan and Kira were there, too, talking to Laura. Stiles almost left rather than face Laura, but she saw him and marched across the gym, straight toward him.

“Scott, Cora, go get ready to spar. I need to talk to Stiles.”

Neither of them moved, flanking him protectively like she might gobble him up.

“It’s okay, guys.” He elbowed them lightly. “I don’t need bookends,” he joked.

Cora rolled her eyes. “Fine.”

Scott was even more reluctant, but he went, standing by Kira and blatantly eavesdropping.

Laura sighed. “Guess that’s the best I can hope for.”

“Guess so.” Stiles wasn’t sure he wanted to hear what Laura had to say. He’d acknowledged that he’d done bad things, he’d messed up, disobeyed; he was getting treatment and punishment. He hadn’t fought it…at first. He’d obeyed Talia’s rules for house arrest, and they were becoming less strict every day. But if Laura had something to say, he probably deserved it. It was her team he’d put in jeopardy, by disobeying. Her position. He cleared his throat. “What, um, what did you…” 

“I wanted to apologize for not coming to see you,” she said clearly. “I thought it would stress you out, so I kept my distance.”

“And now?” he choked.

She smirked at him. “Now I think you’re out of shape and with the way things are looking on the news, we can’t risk that. You’re welcome to spar with the team today, if you want. Get your mind off things.” 

He managed to smile at her. “Yeah, I want to. Thanks.” 

She lifted her arm like she was going to hook it around his neck, then hesitated. “Sorry. Does that bother you now?” She didn’t say it sympathetically or mockingly, just the way she’d check to make sure before sparring with someone, and Stiles loved her for it.

He shook his head and surprised himself by lurching forward and squeezing her around the neck. He’d missed her. He couldn’t remember a time in his life before this when he’d seen so little of her. The Hale family _was_ his family.

Laura swept her hands up and down his back, humming low in the back of her throat like she was soothing him. “Alright. Enough of this, we’ve got work to do.” She poked his ribs. “Better be getting protein. You’ve lost weight. Kira,” She called, turning her back on him. “You practice with Isaac.” She split the rest of them up, too, pairing Stiles with Jordan and Erica with herself. 

It felt good to practice as a team again, in the gym where they always practiced. It still smelled like old socks and Finstock was in the far end of the room shouting at fifth graders, but it almost felt like old times again.


	7. Chapter 7

Stiles took to dozing in Derek’s cell, in the chair Scott had dragged in there. He wasn’t getting much sleep, but it was enough to get by. Dr. Tate didn’t like that he’d changed things up again—his anxiety and nightmares _were_ noticeably worse, he knew that—but she just reminded him that having a set schedule and sleeping in the same bed every night gave him a sense of stability. 

John was sleeping in Claudia’s cell nightly, too, so it wasn’t like anyone was at home waiting for him, anyway. Lydia was with Jackson every night, though she acted like she wasn’t upset that he wasn’t waking up as quickly as they’d like, so they were in good company, at least. 

Penny woke up on the fourth day, and Jeff later that same night, proving that Peter was right: they would wake up eventually, but they needed time. 

Kali was the first of the rabids changed by the OWH to wake up. Stiles followed at a distance as Melissa went to give her a check-up. He wanted to see what she remembered, but Melissa shot him a stern look and shut the door.

He sighed and wandered to Jackson’s room, where Lydia was reading in the chair beside his bed. “Hey. No change?”

“No, not since he lost the scales two days ago.” She marked her page and set the book in her lap. “What about Derek?”

“Nothing. Cora was reading to him the other night and swore he started scowling in his sleep.” He smiled and rubbed his neck. 

“Oh?” Lydia’s brows went up. “What was she reading?”

“Some awful book about spies. She said if anything could irritate him into waking up, it was bad literature.” 

She smiled and tucked her bare feet up into the chair under her legs. “Sounds about right for Derek.”

“Yeah.”

She was silent for a moment, watching his face. “If they lift the lockdown, will you go back out?”

He started. “What? I’m not allowed on field missions. Neither is Erica. It’s just not—not safe.” 

“I know you can put it away when you have to. I’ve read all of your info from when you were in training. You and Cora tuck it away the best.”

“There’s too much to tuck away now. It keeps spilling out.” Like a poison, staining everything he did, getting everywhere.

She nodded. “But if Talia let you, if you thought you could help…”

He grimaced. “Come on. You know the answer to that.”

“You would go.” She sighed. “Every one of you would bolt out there if you thought you could help even one person.” She rubbed her eyes. “The hero complex is exhausting.”

“Hero com-”

She flicked her hand. “Never mind. Just something to think about while we’re waiting.” Her gaze cut toward Jackson and softened. 

He spoke slowly, as the words formed in his head. “I just don’t want us to sit passively while people are being killed right outside.” He rubbed his cheek where it felt warm. “I feel like now that we know the OWH isn’t holding back—because there isn’t anyone to hold them back…we should be _acting._ We can’t be sitting here, safe, while—while people are being killed in the street like it’s _okay_ , like they’re just…swatting flies or something.” He pulled his hands through his hair. “That’s what we’re supposed to _do_ , that’s what this whole damn operation is supposed to be. Not protecting ourselves, but protecting _them._ ” 

“But if we’re wiped out,” Lydia murmured, “who will protect them?”

Stiles nodded. “Right. Right.” But they were still just sitting here, and things were getting worse and worse out there. 

Jackson grumbled.

They froze. Lydia popped out of her chair, book tumbling to the floor, and leaned over him, whispering and feeling for his pulse, one hand braced on his chest. 

Stiles stayed still, his own heart hammering away.

“He’s not awake.” She leaned back, looking disappointed. “Maybe Cora did see Derek scowling the other day.”

“You think us talking was waking him up?”

She smiled a little. “I think if anyone’s voice could annoy Jackson into waking up, well…” Her smile widened when he scowled at her. “Maybe we should trade places. You could read out loud in here. See if that does anything.”

Stiles smiled back. “I don’t think even I can irritate him _that_ much.” What he meant was that of course he would try if she really thought it would help, but if not, he’d prefer to go back to Derek.

She waved her hands. “Go on. I’m going to read some more.” She glanced at Jackson speculatively, picking up her book.

“Okay. You know where to find me.”

 

Cora brought a load of sandwiches and Laura a few hours later. 

“Are you coming to target practice tomorrow morning?” Laura asked, sitting on the arm of his chair. 

“Mmhm.” He had peanut butter and bread gluing his mouth together at the moment, but he figured she got the point.

She ruffled his hair. “Good. Missed seeing your concentration face around the range.” 

Cora, from where she was perched on the foot of Derek’s bed, made a face, probably what she thought Stiles’s concentration face looked like, then laughed and sprayed bread crumbs all over the place.

He narrowed his eyes at her. “That isn’t what I look like!”

“Aw, sure it is. You make your enemies quiver-”

“Yeah, laughing,” Cora snorted. 

“You’re both terrible, I can’t believe I missed either of you.” 

Laura slapped his shoulder. “You love us. We’ll see you and your concentration face in the gun room tomorrow.”

He stuck his tongue out at her. “Just for that, I’m going to make sure I don’t make the face.” 

“Do you think that’s his sex face?” Laura mused, poking Stiles’s ribs.

“Oh my god!” Cora slapped a hand over her eyes. “I don’t know! I don’t _want_ to know—or think about it—or, just. No!” 

“I mean, if he’s putting in effort, you’d think he’d be concentrating, which means concentration face.” She tipped her head, examining Stiles’s face thoughtfully with twitching lips, fighting laughter as Cora plugged her ears. 

Stiles’s face was hot. “You’re the _worst._ Stop, I’m begging you. Stop.” 

“I’m just sayin’!”

“Saying _what_ , exactly?”

“‘Poor Derek’?” She squawked when he shoved her off the arm of the chair. “I’m just kidding! Okay, okay, we’re leaving. We’re going to find Isaac and make sure he’s eaten. We need to give him more stealth training, see where he excels.”

“Everywhere, obviously.” She snorted. “Kidding.” She held her hands up. “See you later, Stiles.” She kissed his cheek and squeezed Derek’s ankle. 

Stiles finished off the sandwiches she left, eating more than he had since the eggs John had made days ago. Being properly fed probably contributed to the way he fell into a deep sleep, head pillowed on his arms on the edge of Derek’s bed.

A hand on the back of his head roused him. His eyes fluttered, but he didn’t sit up, enjoying the fingers rubbing his scalp. He stayed down, because he knew it was probably John or Scott, or any number of Hales coming to visit Derek. He squeezed his eyes tighter. 

The hand stayed on the back of his head, thumb sweeping back and forth across his brow. “I know you’re awake.”

Stiles let out a weird, gurgling gasp and sat up. “Oh,” he said, looking into Derek’s eyes and promptly bursting into tears. “Oh, god. Um. Um, let me get—someone. I’m sorry, I don’t-” He wiped his face despite the tears still running freely from his eyes and jumped up, running for the door. “Hey!” he called, choking a little. “ _Hey!_ ” 

Dr. Genesco came out of a room across the hall looking annoyed. “ _What?_ ”

“Derek’s awake.”

 

Stiles couldn’t stop crying the whole time Dr. Genesco was giving Derek an exam to make sure he was doing okay. He curled up in his chair, out of the way, and covered his face with his shirt to try to preserve some dignity. 

“Alright, Mr. Hale, everything looks fine. You can go ahead and take a shower, and I’ll have someone bring you something to eat. I’ll let you know about the blood tests later.” He put his stethoscope around his neck and palmed the tubes of blood he’d drawn. 

“Thank you,” Derek murmured. 

Dr. Genesco nodded and left to take the blood to the lab. 

Stiles pressed his fingers into his eyes, finally able to force himself to stop crying. “Um, here, you should go shower. I can get you some clothes.” When he looked up, Derek was crouched in front of him.

“Come with me.” 

“No, I should just—I’ll get you something to…” 

Derek set his hands on Stiles’s knees. “Come with me,” he repeated, and Stiles went.

They used the room at the end of the hall that had once been a locker room for the gym. Stiles tossed his sweater over a bench while Derek got in the shower. His eyes teared up again.

Derek came up behind him and carefully peeled him out of his clothes, draping them over his sweater. He tugged him under the warm spray with him. He pulled him close as more tears flooded his eyes. He tucked him in close to his body. Stiles wrapped his arms around him and set his head against his shoulder, closing his eyes. He felt Derek’s back shudder like he was crying, too. They stayed like that for a long time, just holding each other under the spray. 

 

It was stupid to run. It wasn’t like Derek was going anywhere. Stiles ran anyway, at top speed all the way back from Dr. Tate’s office. Derek’s door was open, just like when Stiles left, in the hall of rooms with other patients. The doctors and Peter all wanted to monitor the ones who’d woken, so they were all still there. 

Derek was on the bed, surrounded and squished by Cora, Laura, Scott, Erica, and Isaac. When he saw Stiles in the doorway, he smiled, nudging Cora off his lap to make room for him. 

It had taken Stiles hours to stop the waterworks, which he’d started up again while talking to Dr. Tate. She never minded when he cried, so it was easier to just let go when he was talking to her. He still wasn’t sure _why_ he’d been crying. From relief, maybe. He crawled into Derek’s lap, unapologetically clingy.

Derek nuzzled under his jaw, breathing deeply. 

“What, did you run back?” Cora laughed when his back stiffened. “You did! Awww.”

“Shut-up, Cora,” Derek mumbled without leaning away. 

The group hadn’t shown up until after Stiles had left, so he wasn’t sure if Derek knew about or had asked about Isaac yet. Presumably, he could smell him, but Stiles wasn’t sure if him being half-crushed under Laura and Scott would mix up the scent. 

“Have you guys eaten yet?” He scratched his ear and twisted, just enough to see the side of Erica’s head. 

“Yeah, Mom and Dad brought some food while you were gone.” Cora yawned. “We saved you a muffin.” 

“Thanks.” He wasn’t particularly hungry, but he appreciated the thought. 

Laura sighed heavily. “Alright, Isaac, come on. We have a schedule to stick to.” She rolled off the bed and held her hands out. 

“Schedule?” Derek lifted his head, though his cheek still brushed with Stiles’s. 

“Oh, right. Isaac’s part of active team training now,” Scott said cheerfully. 

“Also a werewolf, if you couldn’t tell,” Cora put in. She poked Isaac’s leg with her foot. 

“Oh. How—when—” Derek closed his mouth and nodded. “Okay.”

“While you were gone. He’s in training now.” 

Isaac got up carefully, keeping his gaze lowered.

“See you later,” Derek said.

Isaac looked up and smiled. “Okay.”

“Schedule!” Laura pushed between his shoulders. “We’ll be late! Move it!”

Erica rolled into Isaac’s vacated spot, propping her head on Derek’s thigh. 

A few more minutes of groggy silence fell over them before Scott started moving around. “Sorry. I said I’d meet Kira for lunch. But I’ll be back later.” He bumped his head against Derek’s affectionately, then climbed off the bed. 

“Okay.” Derek watched him go. He settled his head back against Stiles’s chest. 

Cora popped up a half hour later. “Oh!” She bounced off the bed and into the hallway.

Stiles frowned down at Erica. 

Cora ran back in, her eyes bright. “Jackson’s awake!” 

“Oh! Tell Lydia we’re happy for her.” Erica pinched Stiles’s leg when he snorted. “ _Especially_ Stiles.” 

Cora laughed and ran off again. 

After a moment, Derek asked, “You okay, Erica?”

“Trying to be. Will be eventually.” She fist bumped Stiles. “Don’t worry. You’ll be in therapy like the rest of us in a couple days, if that.” 

He hummed. “I can remember some things from when I was…changed, but not everything. How’d we get home?”

Erica put her head on Stiles’s leg. “Lover here came and got us.” 

Derek looked at him. “How’d you know where we were?”

Stiles shrugged. “Lucky guess?” He couldn’t look away when Derek met his gaze though. “It’s not a big deal.” 

“Lie,” he murmured, but he didn’t press. He leaned his head against him again.

Ian brought them some lunch a while later, sitting in Stiles’s vacated seat to join them. “Talia’s been talking to Alphas Santos and Ito all week. They’re trying to come to an agreement about the lockdown.”

“Why’re we on lockdown?”

Ian smiled a little. “Stiles can fill you in later. We’re trying to end it soon anyway.”

“I hope so.” Erica picked at her sandwich. “Seems pretty useless, all of us in here while the people we were established to help are out there suffering.” 

“I agree.”

Stiles shot Erica a grateful look. For once, it wasn’t him saying things like that. …Possibly because he’d kept his mouth shut and let someone else say it this time.

Derek swept his hand down Stiles’s back. “Do we have a plan once the lockdown _is_ lifted?”

Ian’s smile turned awkward. “Probably, for everyone else. You three are benched for the foreseeable future.” 

“…Oh.” 

“It’s for the best,” Stiles mumbled. He didn’t look up when he felt Derek staring at him in shock, but when Erica did, he snapped, “Well, do _you_ feel ready to be on the field?”

She scowled. “No, obviously not. You’re just the last person I expected to accept it…ever.” 

“The nightmares will do that to you,” he said dryly. 

“Nightmares?”

Stiles winced. “Yeah, you know. Nightmares, sleepwalking. It’s like a party.” 

“From…when we got separated?”

“Sure.”

Erica slapped his leg.

“And…after. You know. Things.” He shrugged.

Ian blew out a breath and stood. “Well, I’m sure you two have a lot to talk about. Derek, tomorrow your mother and I will come to visit together.” Which sounded like a polite way of saying that sure, Stiles could have him today, but they wanted all day tomorrow to themselves.

They were his family so, yes, technically the right thing to do was step aside graciously and let them spend time together. What Stiles wanted to do was stamp his foot and demand all the time he wanted to cling to him. _He_ was the one who’d gone to get Derek and Erica. He was the one dreaming about what he’d done to get him back. But that was unfair and irrational, so he just nodded and tucked his face into the side of Derek’s neck.

“Alright. Thanks for lunch,” Derek said with a note of dismissal. 

Ian looked surprised, but he kissed all three of them on their heads, murmured, “Mo ghrá thú,” and left the room.

Erica sighed. “I’ve got an appointment with Dr. Bailey about…now. If you see Boyd, tell him I’ll see him for dinner, okay? Thanks.” She rubbed her cheek against Derek’s, then Stiles’s, whispering, “Just tell him,” before she straightened up to leave.

“Just tell me what?”

She waved and ducked out of the room.

Stiles sighed. “Everything, I guess.” He squeezed Derek’s hand. “I don’t know if you want to hear it, though.”

“Why?”

“Did stuff. I wasn’t…all there after you and Erica were…separated from us.” He shrugged. “I was torn up from leaving you guys behind.”

Derek straightened up. “You didn’t leave us beh-”

“I _felt_ like I did. I was right there, but I couldn’t get to you guys.” He rubbed his hand over his mouth until the weird, watery feeling left. 

“Tell me all of it.”

He laughed. “That could take all day.” 

“What else am I going to be doing?”

“Nothing I guess.” Stiles crossed his legs and pulled the blanket up from the foot of the bed, spreading it over himself and Derek. “Just how much do you remember?”

Derek frowned. “I remember Montana.” His eyes widened. “Stiles, we found-”

“Claudia. I know.” 

“How do you know?” He looked confused. 

“Dude, she’s here. When I came to get you and Erica, I found her with you guys. Dad’s down the hall with her right now. She…hasn’t woken up yet.” 

He nodded, staring at the open door into the hall with a glazed expression. “After we got to her, they caught us and tortured us. They wanted to know where to find the bunkers, our plans, basic stuff.” He shrugged without looking at him. “I told them who my mother was because I thought-” He took a deep breath, expanding his chest completely, and let it out. “I thought that would get them to leave Erica alone.” He shuddered. “They did for a bit, and then they…changed…me.”

Stiles nodded. “The Balleseros team dragged me out of the building. The rest dragged me back here,” he muttered. “I wanted to go after you guys right away, but I’d already been out for a while because I—I hit my head on the way out. And then we couldn’t go because…protocol, you know.” He shrugged. “Then I was grounded for a while to get my head together, and they put Jordan and Kira on our team.” 

“You hit your head?” He brought his hand up to cup the back of Stiles’s head, feeling for a scar.

“There’s nothing back there. They used vampire blood since I was unconscious so long.”

Derek’s eyes widened. “Oh my god. How hard did you hit your head?”

“I don’t actually remember it, so I couldn’t tell you.” He shrugged. 

“How did you find out where we were?”

“I just…asked the right person.” 

“You left out details.” 

“You don’t need the details.” He rubbed his hand across his cheek. “Trust me.” 

“What’d you do?” He leaned forward to peer into Stiles’s face. “You’re afraid,” he murmured. “Why?”

“I’m afraid of everything lately, haven’t you heard?” He jerked his shoulders. “I did something bad to a bad person to get information about where you were.”

“Torture?”

“No.” Stiles shrugged. “Or maybe? He was under anesthesia. I don’t think he felt anything.”

Derek’s brows furrowed. “Then how…” They stared into each other’s eyes for a long moment. “Ohhh.”

“I got what I wanted.” Stiles swallowed until he felt less like bursting into more tears. 

Derek nodded and carefully put his arm around his shoulders, gathering him close again. 

 

Erica and Boyd came into the room together sometime before dinner. “Guess what?” Her eyes were bright, a grin tugging at her mouth as she bounced on her toes.

“You and Boyd are engaged,” he guessed for the hell of it.

“Not yet,” she said dismissively.

“Thanks.” Boyd looked at them. “Lockdown’s officially been lifted. Talia’s going over the details in an hour if you guys want to watch from the lab.” 

“Holy shit!” Stiles nearly tipped off the bed. “Seriously?”

“Yep. They talked Satomi into it by pointing out that sitting on the sidelines didn’t do anyone any good.” Erica looked smug.

“Good. Yeah, we’ll come watch.”

“Why didn’t Satomi want to lift the lockdown anyway?”

Boyd sighed. “Probably the assassination. Danny’s been monitoring the news though, and it’s getting bad. It’s no-holds-barred out there.” 

Stiles grimaced, pretending not to see the confusion on Derek’s face about the assassination. 

 

Danny and Foster were in the tech lab when they got there. Danny was working on his computer, probably making sure all the rec rooms had audio and video feeds to Talia. She was on the biggest screen over Danny’s station. 

Foster waved at some chairs and sat on Danny’s left. 

Stiles sat next to Derek, angled toward him so their knees brushed, and Erica took the chair on his other side, and Boyd next to her. 

“Ah, there we go,” Danny muttered.

The screen flickered, and then Talia cleared her throat. “I’m sure you’ve all been wondering about the lockdown, and when it will end. As of today, we have officially lifted it.” She paused as some of the field operatives cheered. “Priorities for active teams have changed, as have a lot of things. Our surveillance teams that were out during the lockdown have reported in. The country’s borders are all heavily guarded. No one in, no one out.” She took a deep breath and fixed her gaze on the people in Rec Room A with her. “People who weren’t openly supporting the OWH have either been killed or imprisoned, or are in hiding. The same goes for people openly helping the Pack and any supernaturals. Our liaisons have begun hiding as many supernaturals as they can. They’ll need help getting them to safety—to the bunkers for now.” 

“Alpha Hale, what are the active teams’ priorities now?” Ry asked.

“Rescue as many supernaturals as possible and get them to safety. That’s all we can do now.” She swallowed thickly. “Once that is no longer an option, we give everyone a choice—stay here, hidden, or join us and fight the OWH.”

“Why can’t we fight _now_?”

“We’re outnumbered, moron,” Toya snapped

“That is, unfortunately, correct. But if we can recruit more fighters while doing rescues, we’ll have a chance.” Talia folded her hands in front of her. “Are there any questions?”

“When do we start?”

“Tonight.” She flexed her fingers. “Active teams will gather in the gym for mission assignments. Someone will have to get in contact with our suppliers, see if food deliveries are still possible. Munitions run assignments will be given once the active teams are out.” 

She nodded at the camera, which set Danny into motion turning them off.

Stiles glanced at Derek, then away. 

“Awesome,” Erica said flatly, making him laugh a little.

“That’s good, though, really,” Stiles said. “Supplies and newcomers will mean we’ll have jobs to do while everyone is out.”

Boyd looked over. “You think John will do munitions runs?”

Stiles’s heart skipped. “I mean, probably. He’s got the connections and the human thing going for him.” He picked at his lip, realized what he was doing and stopped.

“You guys should get going,” Danny said. “Get dinner or something. I’m sure they want to keep an eye on Derek over there.”

The door banged open and Isaac burst in. “Stiles, your mother is awake.”

Stiles choked. “Wha—wh.” He stopped and looked at Erica helplessly.

She punched his arm lightly. “Cool. Let’s go say hi to Miss Claudia.”

Derek looked almost as nervous as Stiles felt. “Maybe it should just be family first.”

Stiles forced himself to snort. “Please, you guys are my family.” More than Claudia, at the very least. Sure, he’d missed her, and was sad she was gone, but faced with the reality of her, he was pretty sure he’d been missing the _idea_ of her more than her, and reflecting John’s sadness. Now he was nervous, and guilty for not being happier about her return. None of that, of course, was through any fault of her own, but…

“Then we’ll all come with,” Erica said firmly. She got up and held her hand out to Stiles. 

He took it.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think, and enjoy! <3

Claudia didn’t seem to know what to make of the group that had come to visit her. Luckily, Stiles didn’t really know what to make of her, either. John looked completely blissed out, which was kind of adorable and somehow creepy at the same time. Stiles had to wonder if he was high. 

“This is Stiles,” Claudia said in a clear, firm voice. The way she said it sounded less surprised than he’d been expecting.

He stared at her.

“Yes,” John replied. He shifted slightly, pressing his shoulder into Stiles’s chest. 

Claudia smiled, a little, fleeting thing. “You look like my dad when he was young,” she said. “Did you…ever see any pictures of him?”

Stiles nodded.

“There’s pictures of him at our place,” John told her. “I showed him when he was a kid.”

She nodded, and Stiles almost laughed because they looked like a pair of bobble heads. “You’re twenty-five, aren’t you?”

He nodded again. 

“Sorry I missed all your birthdays.” Then she smirked a little, like she knew it was ridiculous thing to apologize for and that was why she’d said it. Her gaze jumped down to where Stiles was holding Derek’s hand, then up to Derek’s face. “Oh!” Recognition lit her eyes. “Derek. I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Do you remember the lab?” He moved closer to Stiles. 

“Both labs. You tried to rescue me.”

“Just returning the favor.” His cheeks flushed and he tightened his grip on Stiles’s hand.

Claudia looked at Erica and Isaac next. “I don’t know you.”

“Erica Reyes,” she said, lifting her chin like she was ready to take a hit.

Claudia just nodded, eyes going half-lidded in thought. “I remember your parents. Are they still here?”

Erica shook her head. “They’re liaisons on the outside now.” Fear crossed her face. “Probably.” 

“This is Isaac,” Stiles said loudly after a moment.

“Hello.”

Isaac mumbled, “Hi,” back, looking incredibly uncomfortable and practically plastered to Derek’s back in an attempt to be unnoticeable. 

“He didn’t get here until Stiles was fifteen,” John murmured. 

Claudia’s face cleared. “That explains it.”

Derek twitched, turning just as Talia, Ian, Melissa, and Scott arrived. 

“We’ll be in the hall,” Erica announced, and let Isaac drag her out of the room. 

“Has anyone given you an exam yet?” Melissa’s voice was surprisingly even, like she was speaking to any other patient.

“Yes, Dr. Deaton did, and took some blood.” She blinked as her eyes filled with tears. “You guys look old,” she laughed, and finally started to cry. 

“Excuse me!” But both Talia and Melissa crowded forward, wrapping their arms around her. 

John smiled, crossing his arms and leaning back. 

Something must’ve been wrong with Stiles, because he felt little to no connection with this woman. He knew that, given time, they could become…friends, develop a relationship, but—but he didn’t _know_ her. And he knew, somehow, that she felt the same. He just didn’t know how she felt about the situation.

“Let’s go get dinner,” he mumbled to Derek, who looked surprised. 

“I’m going to get something. I’ll be right back.” John stepped around them to the door, clapping Stiles on the back before he left. 

“He’s just happy,” Ian said quietly. “And she’s overwhelmed.”

“Okay.” Stiles stared at him, confused. 

“Give it time.” He ruffled Stiles’s hair and let them pass him out the door.

 

After Derek had fallen asleep that night, Stiles wandered down the hall to Claudia’s room. John was asleep in the recliner, and Claudia was sitting cross-legged on the bed, flipping through a photo album. 

“You don’t sleep much,” she commented without looking up. “You get that from me.” 

“I guess.”

“John brought me these.” She gestured at the stack of albums by her knee. “They’re you growing up.” 

He shifted his feet. “I can leave?”

She shook her head. “I’m just trying to catch up. Last time I saw you, you were four and your favorite pastime was sword fighting with Cora.” She scooted to the side, leaving more than half the bed empty. “You can join me if you’d like.” She tipped the book enough for Stiles to see himself at around age eight, arms wrapped tight around Scott and Cora’s necks.

Stiles crossed the room carefully. “That was my birthday. See how short Cora’s hair is? Like two months before this, she shaved all her hair off with some clippers. On accident. Sort of.”

Claudia snorted. “I did that once. I was five, though.” She tapped another picture. “Why?”

Stiles laughed. “That was supposed to be Scott’s cake for his, um, fifth birthday, I think. We accidentally pulled it off the counter.” He and Scott were covered head to toe in mashed up cake. He climbed on the bed stiffly, so he could see the pictures she was looking at. 

“Bit of a troublemaker, weren’t you?”

“I—yeah.” He shifted so he was a little further away. 

She hummed. “So was I.” She flipped to the next page. “What happened to Cora’s hand? She’s holding it funny.” She tapped the picture where Cora was holding her hand close to her chest while she swung a plastic light saber at Stiles’s face. 

Stiles rubbed his mouth. “She burned it.”

She glanced at him sideways. “Uh-huh. How?”

“We went into the lab,” he admitted with a little laugh. “She touched some molten silver. She still has the scar.” 

They made it through to his teenage years, where it became obvious that he’d started active training. “You did field work,” Claudia observed. 

“Yes.” He eyed her, unsure how she felt about that or why he even cared. 

“What…were you?”

“Good at? Knives and…I was…I used to be good at compartmentalizing.”

She looked surprised, then smiled. “I was terrible at that,” she said without shame, laughing a little. “I was better at stealth. But the knives…I was good with those, too. John was always better at packing it away than me,” she murmured, glancing at him. Her whole face went soft and happy as she looked at him sleeping. “Guess it’s good he was the one that was here for you in that case.”

“Yeah.”

She chuckled. “He told me you’ve been having nightmares and that you’re off field work because you came to get us.”

“Yeah.” He should say something else.

“What’s this one?”

He looked at the picture and laughed. “Me trying to get Derek’s attention when I was sixteen.” He cringed at the awkward hair and clothes he was wearing. “I had a crush on him for a little while. Like, three months.”

“What happened after three months?”

Stiles smiled and hummed. “Alexa Baker. …And then Lucas Castille.” 

“I shouldn’t want to high five you, I don’t think, so I’ll just say I hope you were safe.” 

“Always. Plus, that was like nine years ago.” He shrugged. “Oh, look, that’s when Erica got the bite.” 

“She’s part of Talia’s pack, right?”

“Yes. So are Scott, Isaac, and Bree—that’s Tia’s wife,” he explained.

“Oh. _Oh._ Tia Hale got married? Now I really feel old.”

“Why? She’s older than Talia.”

She smiled. “Tia always said she never wanted to get married, that’s all.”

They’d abandoned the albums and were just talking when John woke up. Claudia probably noticed first, hearing his heart rate and breathing change, but she didn’t say anything and kept listening as Stiles told her about his teenage shenanigans. He only noticed after he finished telling her about the time he, Scott, and Cora went on a very weird scavenger hunt around the bunker. 

“Hey, Dad. Sorry if we woke you,” he whispered.

John just smiled and shook his head. 

Melissa poked her head in a few minutes later, after John finished telling Claudia about the epic water fight Scott, Stiles, and Cora initiated when they were seventeen. “I’ve got breakfast and Talia.” She looked surprised, then pleased and a little misty eyed to see all three of them there.

“Sorry to interrupt.” Talia smiled at the sight of them, too. “I have questions that Satomi and Yolanda insist I ask now.” 

“They want to know what I remember from the OWH,” Claudia guessed. She nodded when Talia grimaced. “They’ve kept some of the supernaturals they changed to use as weapons.” 

“Stiles,” Melissa said quietly. “It’s almost nine.”

Almost time to meet with Dr. Tate. He stood up. “See you later,” he said, waving awkwardly at…his parents. _Weird._

His appointment with Dr. Tate ran a little long, and by the time he was done, Derek was no longer in his room, though Erica and Scott were. Erica was sitting on the floor beside the bed, one knee pulled up so she could pick fluff off her sock.

“He’s off talking to Dr. Timmins,” Scott explained. He looked nervous, twitching where he stood near the door. “We brought you some breakfast.” He pointed at the chair, where a sausage biscuit and a bottle of orange juice sat. 

“Okay…thanks.”

“Sure. Yeah.” Scott tapped his fingers on his arms.

“Oh my god, Scott,” Erica snapped, making him jump guiltily.

“What?” Stiles looked between them. 

“We’re being sent out,” Scott blurted. “Well, just the active team—but not Isaac! Not yet,” he said, probably in response to whatever Stiles’s face had done.

“Where are you guys going?”

“Nevada. Surveillance team found a group of weres with a liaison in hiding. We’re to bring them back here safely.” 

“Nice. Good. Um. When do you guys leave?”

“After lunch, probably around five. Three other teams have already been sent out on other missions.” He put his hands in his pockets. “Laura’s getting ready. I just wanted to say see you later.”

“Alright.”

“And warn you that they’re probably going to send Isaac out in a couple weeks. So be, you know, ready for that.”

“Thanks.” Stiles rolled his eyes and grabbed him around the neck, squeezing tight. “Be careful.”

Scott squeezed back. “We always are.”

“And maybe start getting ready before Laura hunts you down.”

He laughed and stepped back. “Will do. If I don’t see him before I leave, tell Derek I said b—that we’ll see him later.”

“Sure.” 

“You two are saps,” Erica said once Scott was out of earshot. She stretched her legs out. “If I didn’t know Scott was a Super Straight, I’d bet you two were dating.”

“Eugh, gross, Erica.” He shuddered. “Scott’s like my brother. No dating thoughts about my brother. Blech.” He sat on the edge of the bed.

She eyed him speculatively. “Did you ever think about Cora that way, then? Like… _that_ way?”

“No. But for three _fascinating_ weeks when you were seventeen I had a crush on you.”

She got a glazed look in her eye, then smirked. “Ooooh, that was the year I let Tia dress me. Leather, right?”

“I was thirteen. I had simple tastes.”

She laughed. “Did you ever like Isaac?”

“Are we playing 20 Questions?”

She shrugged.

“No.” He shrugged, too. “I didn’t trust him at first, then I kind of…slipped him into the same category as Cora and Scott.”

“That’s not hard to do.” She sighed and rubbed her forehead. “Freaks me out that he’s going to be on the field,” she admitted. “He was always the baby of the family, in a way.”

“I know what you mean. I know he could defend himself before…but not in the same way he needs to in the field.”

“Has he been to see Ally….son?” she asked awkwardly. “Allison?”

“Not as far as I know. It’s probably hard to deal with.”

She nodded. “Are you going to visit Claudia?”

He scowled. “Are you done asking questions?”

She held her hands up. “Fine, sorry. I was just curious.”

He slid off the bed to sit on the floor with her. There was a throw rug to protect bare feet from the cement, but it was still cold. “Yeah, I’ll probably visit her again. We talked a lot last night and this morning.” 

“Oh?”

“It was okay.” He breathed, “She’s basically a stranger, Erica.” 

“I get that.” She nodded. “Just because you share blood doesn’t mean you’re family.” 

He sighed. “Thanks.”

She bumped their elbows together. “I got your back, lover.”

He smiled and leaned his head on her shoulder. “I got yours.”

Derek returned and found them like that sometime later. He didn’t say anything, just sat on Stiles’s right and leaned against him, too.

 

Stiles jerked awake to Derek holding his wrists, stopping him from lashing out, talking to him in a low, soothing voice. The burning in his throat told him he’d probably been screaming. “Sorry.” He blinked, disoriented, and realized they’d somehow moved to the bed.

Derek shook his head. “I was having one, too, you just pulled me out of it when you yelled.”

Erica had left at some point, and turned the light off, so it was just the two of them in the dark. 

“What was it?”

Stiles rubbed tears off his face with his sleeve. “Just—something I did.”

He tipped his head so he could see his face better. “Are you ever going to tell me?”

“You really, really don’t want to know the details.”

“Yes, I do.” 

Stiles looked into his eyes. It wasn’t fair, because he was still in love with Derek, just _so much_ , but he couldn’t imagine Derek still loving him after he told him what he’d done. He sighed. “Okay.” 

Derek nodded and pulled the blanket around their shoulders. 

“I know you guessed…probably close to what I did. I told you that I was a little, um, unstable after you guys were left behind. Boyd and I came up with a plan to find out where you were and to get you back. But I’d been ordered not to go after you, so it was complicated.” He told him everything, probably repeating himself a little in an effort to get the whole story out. He told him about Isaac nearly dying, and the bar fight right after that.

Bringing up the man who’d carved into his face made Derek swear quietly and touch a fingertip to his face, tracing the **P** and stopping the conversation for a minute. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

“I’m sorry the same thing happened to you,” he shot back. He touched the almost matching scar on Derek’s face, the **W** that the OWH used to publically mark him as a werewolf. 

“Go on,” Derek murmured, kissing his palm.

He did, going through starting Isaac’s training and brushing over Peter’s veiled attempts to push Stiles over the edge and subsequent punishment for that. When he got to Nebraska, his voice went flat and robotic. It was easier to talk about if he kept himself apart from it. Didn’t matter; the bed trembled in time with his shivering. “Then I stole a car, got some supplies, and went to Tennessee.”

“Is that what you dream about?”

He nodded. “Except it’s—it’s one of you guys on the table usually, and I’m doing that to you. Or Erica, or Scott or—just anyone. The flashbacks are usually Ray.”

“Ray?”

Stiles stared at the door. “I wanted to know his name.” He swallowed and wished he had a cup of water nearby. “Anyway, after that I brought you guys back here.” 

“And they put you in a cell, didn’t they?”

“Had to.” Stiles shrugged. This part, at least, was not very difficult to talk about. “I don’t blame them. What I did was…bad.”

Derek said, “Come here,” and he realized he’d been slowly inching away the whole time he’d been speaking.

He moved closer, letting out a shaky breath when Derek gathered him into his lap.

“I don’t judge you for what you did. I probably would’ve done the same if I were in your place.”

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his face into his shoulder. He doubted it and that wasn’t a bad thing. Derek was tough, as any of them, and could make hard choices, but Stiles didn’t think Derek was capable of…that. Stiles was sort of horrified that _he_ was capable of that.

“Stiles?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

He turned so he could bury his face in the side of his neck. “I love you, too.” 

“Do you want to go back to sleep?”

He could’ve laughed. Like that was going to happen. “We can lay down if you want, and you can sleep.”

Derek sighed. “Will you wake me up if I…if I start dreaming?”

Stiles kissed his temple and leaned back. “Yeah, promise.” 

“We make quite a pair,” Derek said quietly as he stretched out. “We can probably get about three full hours of sleep between us.”

Stiles laughed and dropped his head on Derek’s chest. “Well, try to get two for yourself.” He ran his hands up and down Derek’s arms. 

 

Stiles was still awake when Cora poked her head in. Derek had fallen asleep hours ago, but Stiles, as predicted, didn’t. He’d taken the time to just rest with him, his mind blissfully blank. He lifted his head when Cora popped in. “What’re you grinning about?” he mumbled.

“Heather’s awake! Come on, Derek’s knocked out.” She danced in place while he carefully untangled from Derek’s hold. “She’s still a little disoriented, but she remembers everything.”

Stiles pulled his socks on, shivering. “Awesome.”

Cora smiled at him sympathetically when they were in the hall. “Overwhelming, I know.”

“So much is happening at once.” He lifted a hand and held it in front of him at chest height. “At any given time there’s like a ninety percent chance of me bursting into tears.” 

“That’s okay, I’m pretty sure I found Derek crying into a bowl of soup yesterday. It’s good. Gotta let that stuff out.” She shrugged when he just stared at her. “You have to say hello. She’s your friend and you were stressing about her so much. What’s the problem now?”

“I don’t have a problem.” He smiled. “I’m just trying to process.” 

“Sure.” She rubbed his arm. “Come on. I’ll stay with you.”

Cora wasn’t wrong about Heather being disoriented; she stared at Stiles for a long moment like she didn’t recognize him. Then she smiled a little. “Hey, you.”

“Hey.” He shuffled closer. “How’re you feeling?”

“Fine. Confused.”

“I bet.”

She furrowed her brows. “Did I chase you somewhere at some point?”

Stiles laughed. “Yeah, you chased me around the lab. And the bunker.” He rubbed the back of his head. “That’s okay. Derek chased me, too. And Sara, Jeff. Pretty much everyone.”

Her brows furrowed. “Derek?”

Cora sat down on the floor, cross-legged. “Let me tell you what’s happened since you changed, Heather, my pal.” She grinned. “Stiles is going to stand there feeling weird.” 

“Okay.” Heather pulled her legs up on the bed. “Start with Derek? Why was he chasing Stiles?”

Cora snorted. “He’s been chasing Stiles for years. But, anyway, so after you got changed, Derek and Stiles started dating, sort of. They’re weird,” she added, and started filling Heather in. 

Stiles eventually sat on the floor beside Cora. He must have drifted off a little at some point, because when Heather said, “Holy shit!” he jerked up, blinking hard. “What?”

“Your mom is alive? That’s amazing, dude!” She beamed at him, making him smile groggily at her. 

“It’s been weird,” he admitted. 

Her smile softened. “I bet.” She glanced at the door. “What time is it?”

“Oh, about four in the morning,” Cora replied. 

“Well, that would explain why I’m so tired.” She yawned. “Is there anything we’re supposed to do when we wake up, or can I go back to sleep?”

“You’re supposed to get a check-up,” Stiles said, remembering abruptly. “Cora! You were supposed to get a doctor!”

She ducked her head sheepishly. “Sorry! I knew how worried you’d been so I thought of you first.” She jumped to her feet and ran out of the room to find someone.

Stiles shook his head. “Sorry about that. You’re supposed to get a check-up as soon as you wake up. I thought Cora had already gotten someone.”

Heather pulled her knees up to her chin. “That’s alright.” She started pulling her fingers gently through the tangles in her hair. “So you and Derek finally popped the cork on all that UST, huh?”

“I—what?” He felt his face going red. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He rubbed his sleeve over his cheek. 

“Hmm. I’m sure. Let me guess…you two were doing that weird thing where you’re fighting but it makes the rest of us feel super uncomfortable because it’s more like foreplay, and then you guys ended up actually having sex. Right?”

Stiles covered his face. “We may have been…arguing…a bit…the first time.”

She laughed. “I knew it. So, Derek Hale pinned down No-Strings-Stilinski and you two are dating now.” 

“ _No-Strings-Stilinski_?” he yelped, dropping his hands. 

“Dude, own it,” she said, smiling at him all quick and fun like she used to, like she was about to suggest they go dump pudding on the heads of the kids who stole all their left shoes again. “It’s not a bad thing, Stiles. We’re in our twenties and we were being safe and having fun. What’s the problem?”

He scowled at her. “No-Strings?” he asked again, feeling a pout coming on.

She laughed again, louder this time. “I was only joking. Mostly.” She sighed and yanked her fingers free of the knot she’d been working on. “I wonder if I can shower.”

“You can, once you’ve been given a check-up.” Stiles glanced over his shoulder. “I should go back to Derek’s room.”

Heather nodded. 

“Hey, found Dr. Deaton,” Cora gasped, bursting back into the room. “He’s right behind me. Stiles, go back to Derek’s room, I’ll hang out with Heather.”

Dr. Deaton entered then, and Stiles slipped out. His head felt overly full, sort of like a head cold, or like someone had stuffed a bunch of cotton in there. 

Derek was curled in a ball on the bed when he got back, shivering and whimpering a little. Stiles rushed to the bed and shook his shoulder; Derek lashed out, but Stiles managed to leap back in time to miss getting hit in the face. 

“Hey, it’s alright. You’re at home, okay?” Stiles inched closer as Derek blinked blearily, looking around like he couldn’t figure out where he was. “You’re in the bunker. It’s alright.” 

“Right. I know.” He wiped his face on his shirt and cleared his throat. “Did you—were you sleeping?” He noticed Stiles on the floor and frowned. “Did I knock you down?”

“No, no. Heather woke up and I went to say hello.” 

Derek nodded and sat up. “Did you get any sleep at all?”

“No. It’s fine. I don’t really—I’ll take a nap later. Do you want something to drink?” Stiles stood up. “I’ll just go get you some water and crackers, okay?”

“I’m not sick.” 

Stiles scowled. “Do you want the water and crackers?”

He smiled. “Yeah.”

“Okay then. I’ll be right-”

“Could you stay?” 

He stopped and looked at Derek’s face. He was pale, sweat plastering his hair to his temples, eyes glassy. He sighed. “Yeah, I’ll stay.” He climbed on the bed next to Derek, putting his arm around his shoulders.

Derek turned into him, burrowing close and slipping his arms around Stiles’s torso. He rested his cheek against Stiles’s chest and closed his eyes. 

It wouldn’t hurt to stay here a while longer.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 Thank you for your comments. Enjoy!

Stiles was jittery knowing teams were outside again. It was good that they were helping people again, so he couldn’t figure out why he was so bothered. Maybe just not being out there was enough. 

“Can I go back to my own room yet?” Derek asked after Peter was done giving him a check-up. 

“I suppose, if you’d like. You should be somewhere someone can monitor you, just in case.” For someone who’d gotten in deep shit with the Alpha to get his nephew back, Peter was acting as distant and distracted as he usually was. 

“I’m sure he can just stay with me.” Stiles shrugged. “It’s not like you need to be in the team hall anymore.” 

Peter’s brows furrowed. “He might do better to move back in with Talia and Ian.” 

“Why?” Derek pulled his shirt back on. 

“Because.” He didn’t elaborate further. “Do what you want.”

Derek sighed and tipped forward, bumping solidly into Peter shoulder. 

If Stiles hadn’t seen them do that with Ian and Talia so often, he’d have been alarmed. As it was, he let them have a moment and set about picking up his socks. Peter wasn’t great at showing he cared, but he was there when it mattered, which was what Derek was silently thanking him for.

“I think I will move my stuff in with my parents,” Derek said after Peter had left. 

“Okay.”

He looked concerned for a moment that Stiles might be hurt by that, so he added, “We can still sleep together.”

He couldn’t help laughing, but managed to say, “Oh, good,” in an almost-even tone. 

Derek rolled his eyes and shoved him lightly, then reeled him in for a quick kiss. 

 

Erica and Boyd helped them move Derek’s stuff, with Isaac eventually showing up to lend a hand once he had a break from training. 

“Have they said when you’re going out on a mission?” Stiles asked, hefting another bag of clothes. Derek had so much _stuff_. Sure, it was neatly tucked out of sight, but it was there. At least Stiles’s stuff was obvious at first glance.

“No, not—not yet.” He gave Stiles a wary look and took two more bags. “Talia doesn’t think I’ve trained enough yet.” 

“Right.”

Boyd picked up Derek’s foot locker. “Pretty soon, they’ll be sending anyone out, as long as they can fight and shoot.”

Stiles bared his teeth at him. “Thank you for the update, Sunshine.”

Erica walked by with a box of books. “Would you boys hurry up? _We’re_ nearly done.” 

Ian was helping them get everything into Derek’s old room. “Stiles, Erica, if you want to stay, I have something to talk to you about, after you’re done.” He glanced hesitantly at Stiles. “I’ve invited Claudia over for lunch, too, and have already asked Derek to stay.”

“Alright.” Stiles looked at Erica, who seemed just as puzzled as he was.

“Great. Thank you.” He went back to the stove, where he was cooking something for lunch, singing under his breath.

Derek brought in another box of books, followed by Boyd and Isaac, so Stiles and Erica got back to work.

 

Boyd left once everything was moved; Isaac stayed long enough to unpack the books, but had to go to a combat lesson right after that.

John, Talia, and Claudia joined them for lunch. Claudia sat between them, observing a little too closely for comfort while Stiles helped Ian finished up the stew. It felt like she was judging every move he made, watching when he bumped into the counter and Ian steadied him. 

Ian didn’t seem to notice; he kept singing and stirring, which had the possibly unintended effect of easing Stiles’s nerves. The song and the voice that delivered it were as familiar to Stiles as the bunker, pulling up pleasant memories of being small and tucked into Cora’s bed and squished against the wall by her and Scott while Ian sang to them before sleep. 

“Thank you for coming,” Talia said once everyone was seated and served. 

“Is this a meeting?” Stiles asked, clenching his hand around his spoon. He relaxed a little when Derek put a hand on his knee. 

“It’s lunch, Stiles,” she said flatly.

John lifted his brows at her.

“And I want to talk to you four about a job,” she admitted. “But it’s only an idea, and you shouldn’t feel obligated-”

“What is it?” He dropped his gaze respectfully when she shot him a sharp look. “Sorry. But what-”

“Maybe we should eat first,” Ian suggested. “Before the food gets cold and I get annoyed.”

“Since when do _you_ cook?” Claudia’s voice caused a long silence, which had to do with all of them still coming to terms with the fact of her being alive.

Then Ian burst into laughter. “Since _your_ son wouldn’t eat what I tried to give him!”

John covered his mouth, snorting. “I forgot about that, too.”

“Forgot about _what_?” Stiles demanded. “I eat pretty much anything!” 

Ian snorted. “Yeah, _now_. You caused a lunch time mutiny because you guys were having spaghetti and you suddenly decided to realize pasta sauce shouldn’t be orange.” He shot a commiserating look at Claudia. “After that, obviously Cora and Scott wouldn’t eat it either. He did that twice more and then I gave up and learned how to cook.”

“Why don’t I remember this?”

“ _I_ remember,” Derek said. “You wanted to eat our lunch, instead.” He gestured between himself and Erica. “Dad looked like he was going to flatten us when we came in with burgers from the cafeteria.” 

“Ooh, I remember that!” Erica laughed. “Cora dumped her bowl into the sink, didn’t she?”

“Yes,” Ian grumbled. “She spent five minutes in time out for that.”

“And you made her help clean it up,” Derek recalled. 

Claudia was smiling a little, picking at her food. “Sounds like he was an instigator.”

Stiles tried not to cringe. “Yep, that was me.” 

“So was Claudia,” Talia announced. “Did you know she didn’t tell anyone who John was? She met him during a mission, got married _out there_ , and brought him here.” She grinned at Claudia. “I’m not sure who was more furious, my parents or yours.”

“Yours. Infinitely.” Claudia smiled and took a drink of her water. “My mom adored John. Yours thought he was a spy.”

“You guys got married out there? How?” Stiles looked between them, confused. 

“Oh, all the documents I used were obviously fakes,” Claudia said. “John’s half was official, though.”

“Had to be,” John sighed. “I lived on the outside as a kid.” 

“But we did it anyway. Who knows what ever became of the documentation of that,” she mused. 

Stiles smiled; John was beaming and it was nice to see him so happy. 

After a second, Claudia glanced up at him and smiled back. 

They finished lunch in the same vein, casually catching Claudia up on what she’d missed, or telling everyone under thirty about her adventures. 

“No,” she said firmly, after one such story, “that was you, Talia.” She grinned fiercely at Ian, who looked shocked. “She flooded the gym because…”

Talia gasped suddenly and covered her face. “Oh my god.”

“Because…?” Ian prompted.

“Because we were supposed to have a date the same night I was supposed to be teaching a class…” Talia kept her face covered, shoulders shaking with laughter. 

“When was _this_?” Derek asked, taking his and Stiles bowls to the sink. 

“When we were seventeen,” Claudia said smugly. 

“I completely forgot about that,” Talia admitted. She laughed at the look Derek was giving her.

“Is everyone finished?” Ian asked. He took Erica’s bowl when she held it up.

“Yes,” John patted Erica’s shoulder, making her smile. 

“Okay. We wanted to talk to you four about a job. You’ll all still be talking to your respective doctors, and Stiles, well.” Talia pinched the bridge of her nose. “You’re technically still supposed to be on house arrest, but we need as much help as we can get.”

“Doing what, exactly?” Erica asked.

“The people—the supernaturals that are being brought here, they’re mostly escapees or rescues from the camps. Which means they’re obviously going to be afraid. They’ll also-”

“—be branded, like us.” Derek lifted his brows at her. “You want us to try to relate to them because we all have matching scars? None of us were in the camps with them.” He looked irritated, his fists clenching on his leg. 

Stiles set his hand on his thigh, squeezing lightly until he twisted his wrist to grab his hand. 

“No. I know you weren’t.” Talia set her hands on the table. “I just think they’d be most comfortable with you four…as faces of the Pack. The first people they see and speak to on the inside. If you don’t want to do it, that’s fine. It was just an idea, one we weren’t sure of in the first place.” 

Ian stood behind Talia’s chair. “You’ve all been with the Pack your whole lives. You’ve all suffered personally at the hands of the OWH, and you all bear marks of that suffering.” 

“I’ll do it.” Erica grinned over at Stiles and Derek. “Might as well make this ugly thing worth something, right?” She traced the scar on her cheek lightly. 

Stiles nodded. “But I’m not sure I should. I’m human,” he pointed out, cheeks flushing.

“Stiles,” John began, but Talia stood up and leaned across the table, peering into his face intensely. 

“You were marked unwillingly by a human in order to identify your affiliations to other humans. Correct?”

He had trouble holding her gaze, but then, most people did. “Yes.”

“Then you’re just as suited for the job as the other three.” She sat back down and folded her hands on the table. “Anyone aside from Erica interested?”

Stiles snorted. “I’ll do it.”

“Me too,” Derek said after a beat. 

“You want us to greet newcomers?” Claudia looked from Ian to Talia, doubtful.

“They’ll have questions, and they’ll be afraid. We just want you to answer them, reassure them, make them as comfortable as possible.” 

She nodded. “Alright. When do we start?”

Talia smiled. 

 

The first two teams returned a couple hours after dinner. They arrived in buses and vans, people filing out and clumping together throughout the garage. Laura and her team approached them first, filthy and exhausted, flushed with success. Stiles grinned and grabbed Cora and Scott around the necks, squeezing as tightly as he could.

“Miss us?” Cora guessed, rubbing her face against his shoulder. 

“Yes. I was worried.” 

Scott laughed and rested his head on Stiles’s shoulder. “You’re worried about everything.”

Kira patted Stiles on the back. “We’re all okay. I think we did pretty well, too. Only had to dodge, what, like twenty OWH goons?” She looked over her shoulder at Jordan, who made a face. 

He had a cut spanning his whole face, still bleeding sluggishly. “Yeah, they were nothing.” 

“What happened to you?”

“Glass, I think. Not sure why it hasn’t healed yet. I’m heading to the infirmary now.” He swiped at the blood dripping from his chin and stepped around them, unbuckling his vest.

Scott straightened up. “What’re you guys doing out here?” He looked at Erica and Derek, then at Claudia and away again. None of them were used to her yet. 

“Ah, well. Talia wanted us to…greet the newcomers,” he said awkwardly. “It’s a…sort of a job she has for us.” 

Laura gestured for Kira to follow her to where Claudia was standing, by the bin that collected the dirty Kevlar vests. They had to wind through several tables of tools and vehicles, but it was much clearer over there than it was in the center of the garage, crowded with rescues.

“What kind of job?” Cora asked doubtfully, leaning back a little but keeping her arm around Stiles’s waist. “You guys aren’t supposed to be-”

“She just wants us to greet them, show them around. It’s not strenuous or anything.” Derek smiled and put his arm around Scott’s shoulders when he held his arms out for a hug. 

Erica huffed and popped Scott over the head for not giving her a hug, then threw her arms around him.

Stiles still had his arm around Cora’s waist, half-hugging her, when a voice that felt like fresh blood across the face caught his attention. His heart froze in his chest, but he made himself pause and turn, look first. He choked out a dry laugh and yanked Cora’s sidearm out of its holster, storming across the bunker and ignoring her alarmed shout. He pressed the muzzle against the side of Chris Argent’s head, backing him up against the wall and knocking several tools to the floor with a loud clatter.

“I told you to disappear,” he said, flicking the safety off. “Three seconds to convince me not to shoot you here.”

“ _Stiles!_ ” Laura barked. Obeying her commands was still somehow worked into his brain, apparently, because he froze. “He liberated the werewolves and the vampires we brought! Let him go!”

“Do you know who he is?” He didn’t turn around, didn’t even blink. He kept the gun flush against Chris’s temple. 

Chris stared back at him with admirable calm. 

“We were going to take him to the Alpha,” Laura said through her teeth. “All of the people he rescued trust him, and wouldn’t leave him behind.” 

Stiles eyed him critically. “Would they have trusted him if they knew who he was?” He knew he had the attention of at least half of the garage now, trying to see what he was doing and why he was harassing one of their rescuers. 

“Probably not,” Laura admitted. “But the Alpha has the final say. No one made you the executioner, Stiles.”

Something about the word made him wince, which Chris did not miss. “Fine.” He eased back, flipping the safety back on and giving the gun to Cora, who was standing closer than he’d expected.

She took it and holstered it, shooting Chris a narrow-eyed glare.

“Nice first impression, Stilinski,” Erica muttered.

Laura shouldered past him and grabbed Chris, marching him out of the garage. 

A woman with a **K** branded on her right cheek approached Stiles with hard, narrowed eyes. “Why did you do that? Who was that man?”

Stiles flicked an uncertain glance at Derek, who nodded. “That guy, um, he used to be a Pack liaison. He helped some of the people in here escape from the camps.”

She nodded. “Why did you hold a gun to his head?”

“Because when I went to him for help on the field, I found out that he’s, um…”

Scott met his gaze and nodded, too, encouraging him. 

“I found out that his real name is Chris Argent.” He paused while panicked whispering swept through the garage. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Chelsea step out of her office and make a face at the noise. “He claims that he’s not in contact with his family anymore, that he’s on—well, on neither side, but I don’t trust him.” 

The whispers died down as most of the supernaturals grouped together, trying to get a look at him. “He’s an _Argent_?” a woman asked.

“But he rescued us!” 

“Did he say why he left?” the kitsune woman asked Stiles.

“Yes. He said he’s looking for his daughter, who left the family because—because she didn’t want to be part of it anymore.” 

Murmurs rushed through, too low for Stiles to hear.

Erica snorted. “Alright, we can’t stand here forever. If you’re coming in, then let’s get a move on. I’m sure some of you are hungry, and you all need showers, so come on.” She held her arm up, beckoning them. 

Derek rolled his eyes. “You can follow us to the cafeteria, where you can get some food and ask us any questions you have.” He and Erica led the group out, leaving Stiles and Claudia to bring up the rear.

“So are you guys the tour guides now?” Cora teased.

“Pretty much.” Stiles put his hands in his pockets; the kitsune woman was still staring at him really closely. “We’re just supposed to help them out.”

“Well, good luck. I’m going to shower.” 

Scott leaned against his shoulder. “So. How’re things?” He looked pointedly toward the door, where Derek and Erica had disappeared. 

“Fine. You wanted me to tell them about Argent,” Stiles said, because he had more important things to think about at the moment.

Scott winced a little. “Laura ordered _us_ not to. She never said you couldn’t.” He rubbed the back of his head. “I just think that for everyone to feel safe here, we have to be honest. They’ll know they can trust you.” 

Claudia approached as the last few stragglers of the group made their way to the door. 

Scott straightened up, looking awkward. “Hello, Mrs. Stilinski,” he mumbled.

“You can call me Claudia, Scott. I used to change your diapers.”

Scott flushed. “Right.”

“We should keep up with the group. How did you discover Chris Argent?” She looked at Stiles.

“I went to him for help before I knew who he was. He had pictures in his room of himself with Kate and Victoria.” Stiles held the door open for the last few people and Claudia. “I told him he should disappear, since I left him alive, but he didn’t listen, obviously. I don’t trust him.”

Claudia hummed.

The newcomers took up most of the available seating in the cafeteria, sticking in groups probably formed on the trip to the bunker. Toya had set food out buffet style, apparently deciding that a little of everything was better than a lot of one thing that no one would like. 

A man stepped in front of Stiles before he could get more than a few steps into the cafeteria, holding a tray like a shield. “Do we have to stay here?” He had a **V** burned onto his cheek, and his gaze flickered twice to Stiles’s scar.

“Um. Not if you don’t want to.” He shrugged. “Safer than out there, though.”

“Okay, but if I take food or—or clothes, will I have to stay to pay you back?” he asked suspiciously. 

“No. If you want to leave, you can. You just have to be quiet about our location. If you want to stay, you help out around the place.”

“Why?”

Stiles scowled. “Because, dude. Didn’t you see this place? It’s huge. It takes a lot of work to keep it running. You get help, you give help. You can take your chances out there if you want.”

“What’s the ‘P’ stand for?”

“Pack.”

“Who did it?”

Stiles sighed. “Some dick on the outside who thought he was being clever.” He blinked when the vampire nodded and went to join the line for food.

Derek stopped at his side a few seconds later. “They like you.” He looked happy.

“Why? All I’ve done is wave a gun around like a lunatic.” 

“You were a field operative, and you’re honest. Helps that you almost blew Chris’s head off to protect us.”

“The whole Pack,” he corrected.

Derek swept a hand down his back, then back up, letting his palm rest against the back of his neck. “Yeah, I know.” 

Stiles shuffled closer. “Where’d Scott go?”

“He’s over there talking to the kids with Kira.” He waved at the cluster of children near the food tables. 

Scott was dishing out spaghetti and meatballs into colorful plastic bowls while Kira passed wet wipes so they could wash their hands. Even the smallest child, a boy barely out of diapers, had a **V** branded on his cheek. It was horrifying. 

“Claudia’s over there,” Derek said, nodding at a table across the room. 

She was sitting with a group of vampires, listening intently as they asked her questions and responding every now and then. 

“Guess it’s going well.” 

“Yes.” Derek nuzzled his cheek. “Come on. Erica looks like she’s going to punch that guy. I don’t think Mom would consider that part of the welcoming attitude she wanted us to project.”

Stiles laced their fingers together. “I’m just gonna watch you charm people.”

Derek snorted. “I doubt they want to be charmed at the moment.”

A woman intercepted them on their way to Erica. “You’re right. Come sit with us. I’m Mae,” she added, and Stiles realized she was the woman who’d spoken to him in the garage. “We have more questions.”

Stiles shrugged and followed her to her table, sitting in the space they’d left.

“I’ll be right back. Gotta go stop Erica.” Derek squeezed his shoulders, kissed his cheek, and slipped away. 

Stiles cleared his throat and looked at the people occupying the table. “Um. So. You had questions?”

Mae smiled.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly I cannot wait until the whole fic is up. I want to hear alllll your thoughts on it, guysss! <3

Toya seemed to be running a military operation rather than a kitchen. She did it well, each separate station working with practiced ease through their tasks. They were all chattering, too, so somehow the atmosphere was serious but companionable. 

“What is it?” she barked when she noticed Stiles in the doorway. 

“There’s another group arriving, Foster said in about twenty minutes. Talia sent me to ask if, um.” He faltered in the face of her glare. “To ask if there was any way you could get some food out early, for them.”

Toya growled in the back of her throat. “For how many?”

“Not as many as before. About twenty-six.” 

“Fine. It’ll be simple. Sandwiches and the like. That’s the best I can do.”

“That’s fine, that’s great! You’re a goddess. You are perfection and we should all bow to you.”

“Enough groveling, go tell Talia it’ll be ready in less than twenty.” 

“Of course. Thanks, Toya!” He ran back to Talia’s office, where she was arguing with an alpha who thought his pack should get their own separate rooms. 

“Excuse me,” she said instantly. “I have to speak to Mr. Stilinski and it can’t wait.” She stood. “I’ve already told you why that isn’t possible, Alpha Graham. We have a limited amount of space. No, neither of the other bunkers have any more space to offer than we do,” she said when he tried to speak again. “You’ll have to decide if separate rooms is important enough to leave to you.”

Alpha Graham grunted and stood as well, stomping out with a deeply aggrieved look on his face. 

“Ah, I was only-” 

Talia held her hand up for him to wait. “Come in, close the door,” she mouthed. 

He did so, frowning. “Um, I was only coming by to let you know Toya can set out food for the people arriving.”

“I figured. I just wanted to get Alpha Graham out of here.” She rubbed her temples. “I understand that requesting more rooms and trying to make that happen is something he feels he can do for his pack at a time when he probably feels useless to them. But…”

“But he’s a pain in the ass?”

“But he’s a pain in the ass.” She sighed. “I’ve been trying to be patient with him by putting myself in his shoes, but it wears on you.” She rubbed her forehead. “Alright. Anything else?”

“Derek wants to know who’s on guard duty for Argent.”

“Joseph is guarding Allison, Diane is guarding Chris.” They’d put Chris in a hall separate from Allison, to prevent any possible plotting or contact between them. Talia hadn’t said whether she trusted Chris or not.

“And…that’s it. Just relaying the message.”

“Thank you.” She looked at her desk, which was a mess. 

Stiles hesitated. “Do you guys…have a plan?”

“We’re working on one. Since the OWH and Argent are in charge, that gives us more freedom and less protection. We aren’t sure the best way to go is full-on attack. But,” she sighed, “we can’t all stay locked in the bunkers forever. It’s already crowded, and the full moons are miserable.” She skimmed a hand through her hair. “We will just have to weigh our options.” 

“We’re still outnumbered.”

She smiled wanly. “By a wide margin.” 

“But there’s still plenty of supernaturals out there, and maybe even humans who want to help.” Stiles shrugged and put his hands in his pockets. “If we could get everyone together, we might stand a chance.”

“Yes. It would be war. Making the decision to initiate civil war shouldn’t be easy,” she said. “We’ll have to discuss it further, gather supplies, make plans.” Her eyes went unfocused. “Alpha Ito would be best for that. She’s better for strategy.”

“Right. I should get to the garage…”

“Of course. Thank you.” She waved him out and started digging around her desk.

The group was just getting out of the vans when Stiles got to the garage. They were all vampires, found hiding in Nevada and brought back by Ry’s team.

“If you’ll follow us, we can get you all something to eat,” Claudia called, taking the lead with Erica. 

“You guys have blood, too, right? Some of our group were made,” a teenager said doubtfully. He looked half-starved already: eyes sunken, skin waxy. “They can’t eat regular food.”

“We have blood. We have plenty of donors here and other vampire residents. This way.”

Derek and Stiles waited at the back, keeping an eye on the stragglers. 

Chelsea marched up to them, holding a wrench in her fist like she might beat them with it. “How much do you know about cars, Stilinski?”

“Ah, not enough.” He put his hands up. “What’s going on?”

“I need more help out here. I know the infirmary and kitchen take priority, but we need vehicles to go do rescues and I don’t have enough hands to make repairs and keep them running in top condition.” 

“We’ll get you some help, Chelsea,” Derek said quickly. “I’m sure _someone_ knows how to change oil or a tire.” 

She barely glanced at him. “Great. Thanks.” She left quickly, snapping at one of her few mechanics to move the vans out of the way of the door. 

“I can help out here,” the teenager said helpfully. 

Stiles grinned at him. “Awesome. Let’s get you some food first.” He looked at Derek, who was frowning at the floor. “Come on, we have a group.” He prodded his arm until he got moving. 

The vampire group was overall pleasant, which might have had something to do with their access to food. The werewolves that arrived a few minutes later with Jessa’s team was a different story. 

“This is it?” a woman snapped. “Cement walls and sandwiches?”

“Andrea…”

“No! We need to be fighting, not eating _brunch._ ” 

“You can’t fight anyone if you’re starving.” Stiles stepped between her and Erica, before Erica could rip her lungs out through her nose. “We want to fight, too, but we’re outnumbered. Right now, the safest thing-” his breath whooshed out of him when she slammed her palm into his chest, full strength, sending him stumbling back.

There was a snarl and a clatter while he was still falling; Erica caught his shoulders and steadied him. He rubbed his chest as it throbbed, likely bruised already. 

Derek had the woman, Andrea, pinned to the floor, fangs bared an inch from her throat while her alpha hovered nearby. 

“Derek, I’m fine.” Stiles was more annoyed that he hadn’t seen the attack coming. Laura was right; he was out of shape. “Let her up.”

“Keep your hands to yourself,” he snarled. He stood up and eased back so he was standing at Stiles’s side. 

“As you can see,” he said, “we have a policy. Don’t get physical with the people trying to help you. I know I’m only human and can’t relate what’s been done to you, but I want to kick ass as much as you do.” Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Claudia hovering, like she’d been ready to jump in if a fight started. 

“Andrea won’t be starting any more trouble,” her alpha said sternly. “I apologize on her behalf.” He held his hand out, palm up.

Stiles looked around, but Derek and Erica looked just as puzzled.

“Take his hand, Stiles,” Claudia said, surprising him. To the alpha, she said, “They weren’t taught the old customs.”

Stiles set his hand in the alpha’s, not wanting to start another fight. “What _are_ the old customs?” The pain of his bruised chest drained away, making him sigh. 

“To apologize and fix the damage as best we can. In this case, ease your pain.” The alpha smiled and let go of his hand. “Thank you for your hospitality. I would like to speak to the Alpha as soon as possible.” 

“Eat first,” Stiles suggested. “She’s busy and we’re supposed to answer as many of your questions as we can before we take you to the Alpha.” 

He nodded. “Then we’ll eat.” He looked at Andrea, who had sat up but was still on the floor. “We won’t cause any more trouble either.”

“Great. If you have any questions, you can ask one of the four of us.” Stiles dragged Derek over to the vampires, who looked amused by the show. “No fighting the rescues!” he hissed.

Derek rolled his eyes. “Like you wouldn’t have done the same.” 

“Please, I am the _paragon_ of—stop laughing!” Stiles punched his shoulder lightly. “Okay, well, you’re supposed to set a better example, then.”

“You’re a little old to need role models.”

“Pfft, I’m not too old. _You’re_ old. You’re going to be thirty next year, dude.” He waved his hands. “We are so off track. Go help someone or something.” He looked over at the vampires. “Questions?”

“How long have you two been married?” one of the girls asked dryly. 

“We’re not married. _Someone_ won’t commit.”

Derek rolled his eyes again. “We’re a little busy for that. And it’s not like we have birth certificates or social security numbers, Stiles.” 

“He’s a romantic,” Stiles simpered. He snickered when Derek pinched the bridge of his nose. “Any questions about the Pack or the bunker?”

“Can I help in the garage? Gary said they need help out there, and I know more about cars than any of these guys.” 

“Sure. And that leads to what we should talk about—there are some exceptions, but there’s a lot to do here, and things work smoothly if everyone lends a hand. You can pick where from a list of places that need extra hands.” Derek nodded at the woman who’d asked. “They need the most help out with the vehicles, but there are other positions open.” 

They answered all the questions they could, explaining how the sleeping arrangements had to be, the exceptions to work, the training schedule. 

“So, wait, we _have_ to train for combat?” Marie asked.

Stiles studied her, the scar on her cheek matching the rest of the vampires at the table. “You don’t _have_ to. We highly recommend it, though. If you want to be ready, just in case it comes to a fight, then go to training. If you don’t want to fight, we aren’t going to force you.” He shrugged. “We can’t, and even if we could, why would we? If you don’t want to fight, you won’t, whether you know how or not.” 

“I mean, I don’t want to just let them chase us away,” she blurted. “But I don’t think fighting will change things.” 

“Marie, if we could use logic and reason, we would have,” Gary snapped. “They took out most of the government to make it easier to kill us indiscriminately.” 

She squirmed. “But—I just think there’s a better way.”

Stiles glanced at Derek, who looked blank.

“If you figure out a better way that doesn’t involve all of our extermination, or us living in camps, or squashed together in cramped bunkers, you let us know,” Derek suggested. 

Gary wasn’t quite as diplomatic, but then, he was about sixteen, so it was to be expected. “There’s nothing _left_ , Marie. They torture and kill us. We can’t just keep laying down for it!” 

“They’re _people,_ though. Living things!” 

“Yeah, but they don’t care that we are. So I don’t care.” He scowled. “She was only in the camp a week before we escaped. I was there _months_. They branded my little brother’s face right in front of me, so you can fuck _off_ with your “they’re people too” bullshit.” He looked at a boy further down the table, who was watching him with wide, solemn eyes. 

Stiles figured the best thing to do was change the subject. This way he didn’t piss anyone off by agreeing verbally with Gary. He didn’t need any more bruises. “Okay. Everyone who knows each other or is related, try to group together. We don’t want to accidentally separate you.”

The werewolves and four kitsune were the last group for a while, so they all split up after seeing them to their rooms. Claudia went to help John in the gym, Erica mumbled about going to see Boyd, and Derek followed Stiles to his place. 

“It’s weird. Living with our parents again.” He put his hands in his pockets. 

“I guess. I miss my room.” Derek wondered over to Stiles’s bed, sitting on the edge. He made a face suddenly, running his fingers over the comforter.

“What?” Stiles hopped up on the desk, kicking his legs.

“I just remembered that once when you were, um, seventeen? I sort of…”

Stiles felt himself flush, even though he didn’t even know what Derek was talking about. Seventeen was a rough year for all involved. “Sort of what?”

“Sort of walked in on you and that guy, um, Lucas. In here.” His face turned red. “I didn’t mean to, obviously! I don’t think I’ve ever moved quite so fast, actually, trying to get the hell out of here.” He glanced at the bed, brows drawing together. 

Stiles snorted. “That must’ve been horrifying for you.” He tried to keep a straight face, but ended up laughing anyway. “Sorry, I’m just remembering how awkward it was. I can’t even imagine how it looked when you saw.” He covered his eyes for a second, shoulders shaking. 

“I didn’t see _that_ much!”

Stiles squinted at him. “How did you not know before you got an eyeful?” 

He shrugged, looking mortified. “I wasn’t paying attention.” 

“What did you see, exactly?” Stiles remembered that time with Lucas, where they were both trying to figure out the logistics of the whole ordeal, and while there’d been awkwardness and nervous mistakes, they’d laughed about it and had fun. He couldn’t see why _Derek_ was so embarrassed. 

“Nothing! I just—I was twenty-one, I felt like a pervert. You were seventeen,” he reiterated. “I was-”

Stiles crowed with laughter. “You got a glimpse of my skinny naked ass and felt bad because you _liked_ it!” 

“I didn’t-”

“You liked it. I can tell, you’re doing your reluctantly-turned-on-slash-embarrassed face. You wanted to kick Lucas out and take his place.” Stiles grinned at him. “I didn’t really have the best moves back then. You weren’t missing much.”

“Oh my god.” Derek flopped back. “I’m never telling you anything again.”

Stiles jumped off the desk. “I’ll stop teasing you. I’m flattered, really. Especially since I had a crush on you back then. You know. As kids do.” He flopped on the bed beside him, dropping a hand on his thigh. “Wanna make out?”

“Yes. Come here.” He tugged on his wrist, helping him roll onto his chest. He ran his hands down his sides, stopping at his hips. 

Stiles leaned down and kissed him, bracing his hands on either side of his head. He smiled when Derek let out a breathy murmur of his name, thumbs rubbing his skin where his pants were slipping down. He moved his hands as they kissed, brushing his palms over Derek’s face to relearn the shape of him after so long, exploring the changes; he stroked his fingers along his jaw and throat, feeling his pulse against the pad of his thumb. 

Derek’s hands slid up his shirt, counting his ribs and tracing the scars, twisting his hips enough that Stiles gasped. 

His hands dropped to Derek’s shoulders, fingers flexing as Derek’s hands lowered, dipping just below his waist band, into his jeans. He nipped his bottom lip and squeezed his shoulders, massaging and kneading the muscles as they kissed. When Derek tried and failed to sit up, pinned by Stiles’s weight and his own distraction, terror flooded Stiles’s system like a drug. He’d dreamt this before: Derek, pliant and trusting under his hands while he pinned him down and took him apart piece by piece—

He ripped himself away, tripping over the desk chair and landing on the floor hard. Pain shocked him into the present, zipping up and down his spine. 

Derek sat up, alarmed. “Are you alright? …Did I hurt you?”

Stiles pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Um. No. No. I just—I was scared I’d hurt you.” He could sense Derek’s confusion in the silence, could picture the expression he was probably making. “I felt like I was pinning you in place,” he said, speaking slowly and clearly. He dropped his hands and looked up. “I’ve had nightmares where I do that. It scared me.”

Derek nodded. “Alright.” He looked a little pale, too. “Do you want to stop? We can grab something to eat, get some air.”

Stiles squinted at him. “You don’t like being pinned any more than I liked doing it,” he guessed. 

He shrugged. “It’s—I don’t— _restraint_. I like your weight. I just don’t think…” He smiled a little. “It’s not like you’ve been able to actually restrain me before.” 

Stiles snorted, rubbing his face. “Okay, so let’s try something else.” He got up and climbed onto the bed. He scooted back and braced his back against the wall, moving the pillows to make room. “Come here. Unless you don’t want to try again.”

“No, I do. Alright.” He moved closer to where Stiles was. “Now what?”

Stiles rolled his eyes and hooked his fingers in Derek’s belt loops, tugging him closer. “In my lap, babe. I like your weight, too.” 

Derek swung a leg over his hips, but he hovered rather than settling, like he was scared Stiles couldn’t take his weight. 

He rolled his eyes and grabbed his hips, pulling him down. “There. See?”

He nodded and kissed him, cupping his face and tracing his fingers over his cheek like he was strumming an instrument. 

They were still sitting, shirts off and chests flush against each other, when Derek heard the door open. “It’s Scott,” he breathed, tongue tracing over the outside of Stiles’s lips.

“Maybe he’ll go away,” Stiles whispered, gripping Derek’s ass and pulling him closer. 

“Not happening!” Scott called. “Laura wants you two helping in the gym until you’re needed for newcomers.” 

Stiles let his head fall back against the wall. “’Kay!”

Derek mouthed at his neck, moving slowly down his throat and to his chest.

“Guys! _Now!_ ” 

“Okay!” Stiles’s voice squeaked. He put his hand in Derek’s hair and dragged him back up, kissing him hard. 

“Please don’t make me come in there!” Scott whined.

“Enter at your own peril!” Stiles called, and Derek collapsed against his chest, laughing so hard he couldn’t sit up. He rubbed his back and laughed a little himself. 

They made it out of the room a few minutes later, fully dressed in their gym clothes and mostly presentable.

Scott looked unimpressed. “You’re terrible.” He wrinkled his nose. 

“Why does Laura want us helping in the gym?”

“Because you’re both out of shape, she says.” He held his hands up. “She just thinks we all need to be ready to go at a moment’s notice.”

“Sure.” Stiles jerked his shoulders. “I don’t mind helping in the gym. Sounds fun.” 

Derek nodded. 

“Good. Come on. Your dad is running a class right now and can probably use help, especially with the sparring demonstration.” Scott grinned. “Isn’t that like foreplay to you guys?”

“You’re the worst! You said _we’re_ terrible.” 

The group John was teaching were adults, some with brands, some without. They were doing sort of well, at least when they could watch what John did and mimic him, but once asked to show what they’d learned, they faltered. There were fifteen of them, which might have contributed to their struggle. 

“No, no, don’t move your wrist. Swing all the way through, like this.” He demonstrated, landing a powerful right hook on the punching bag the group was using. He noticed Derek and Stiles then. “Ah, hey, boys. These two are going to help, which should make it easier. Take five people each. We’ll try sparring in an hour!” he called. “Split up,” he ordered when the group didn’t move.

Stiles got a group of supernaturals who didn’t look impressed with getting stuck with a human for an instructor. 

“Look, I’m sure you’re good and all,” one of the men said, “but why would we take fighting advice from a human?” He looked at his peers, half-laughing. “You’re not as strong or fast as us. And you’re really young, too, so…”

“Alright. Since you make such an excellent point, why don’t you guys just attack me? Show me what you learned and we’ll go from there.” He grinned when he heard Derek sigh across the gym.

The five rushed him at once, every one of them telegraphing their moves. Stiles twisted, hooking the ankle out from under the kitsune to his right. He ducked a punch and grabbed the arm, throwing the werewolf to the mat. A sloppy punch almost hit his face but he dodged, leaning aside and grabbing her around the middle, heaving her into one of her peers. 

The kitsune leaped at him; he snapped a kick at her chest and flung her across the mats. The vampire who’d spoken out grabbed his shoulder and yanked him around. 

He slammed his fist into his stomach, grabbed his shoulders, and slammed his face down into his leg. Someone dragged him back by the shirt, but he jammed his elbow back, winding them, and spun fast, ready to punch.

“Hey!” John called out. “You’re supposed to teach them, not beat them into submission.”

“Just making a point, Dad.” He turned to look at his class, who were all either glaring or grinning. Seemed about right. “Ready to learn?”

“Yes,” the vampire with the busted nose said. “Sorry.”

“Cool, let’s go.” It was easier to teach them after that, which just proved that Stiles’s method _worked_. 

When it came time to spar, they were excited to try. 

“Derek and Stiles will demonstrate what’s acceptable,” John said. “If your opponent taps out, you stop. Pair off. I’ll pair with someone to make it even. Go ahead, boys.”

Stiles grinned at Derek, his heart racing. It was possible that Scott had a point earlier, not that he would ever admit that to him.

Derek grinned back, stepping on the mat. “You want to go first?”

“Do I ever?”

He smirked and rushed him. 

Instead of dodging like he normally did, Stiles hooked his leg and yanked, tumbling them to the mats. He bounced up and skipped back as Derek leaped to his feet swinging. He clipped Stiles’s chin but it cost him to get that close; Stiles popped him in the face, then the gut, slamming him back to the mats. He hesitated, but Derek didn’t, grabbing his legs and twisting, slamming him back into the mats. 

“Tap out.” Derek kissed his nose.

Stiles headbutted him and rolled to his feet, smirking when Derek glared at him. “I’m not tapping out this early.” 

Derek shrugged but his eyes were gleaming, excitement giving him an attractive glow. He rushed again, but while Stiles was rolling his eyes, he dodged around him and kicked his leg out from under him. 

“Shit!” Stiles rolled away before he could kick him, then caught his ankle and yanked him down when he tried again.

He pulled free and slammed Stiles back down with his leg, pinning him to the mats. 

Stiles swore again and twisted, trying to free himself, but Derek’s leg kept him pinned. 

He sat up, grinning as he moved to straddle him and pin his arms down with his knees. “Tap out now?”

“Nope,” Stiles wheezed. “Mistake,” he added, and bucked his hips, slamming his knees against Derek’s shoulders, knocking him off balance. It was enough for him to squirm free and get to his feet, rubbing his chest where the bruise was starting to throb again.

Derek whipped around. He leaped, wolf-like and utterly shocking, catching Stiles around the middle and slamming him into the mats. He sat on his legs this time and pinned his wrists with his hands, growling in the back of his throat. “Tap out.”

“Never.”

“And because I know them both, I’m going to say that’s enough, you two,” John sighed. He had his hand over his eyes. “As you can see, anything goes, just don’t try to kill each other. And, please, less of…that.” He gestured at the two of them while the class snickered. 

They stayed for the remainder of the class, thrumming with energy, bolting out as soon as John released everyone for dinner. 

“Not your place,” Derek gasped.

“Where?” Stiles demanded. 

Derek yanked him down the hall of classrooms, chose one that had its lights off, and shoved him through the door. 

“You’re lucky it’s Saturday,” Stiles groaned against his mouth. “We’d never live it down if we scarred a bunch of kids watching Bill Nye.” 

“I listened first,” Derek mumbled. “Take your pants off.”

“You first.” He laughed and fell back against the door. He was shaking, but it wasn’t fear causing it for the first time in what felt like forever. He wasn’t sure if it was leftover adrenaline or fresh, but he felt good anyway. “Does the door lock?”

“Hope so. Stay against it just in case.” Derek dropped to his knees and yanked Stiles’s pants down. “Don’t be too loud,” he added with a wicked grin.

 

Stiles thought maybe he’d died, a little bit, or that his soul had ascended or something. It was possible that they’d been a little…pent up. He reached out to pat Derek’s shoulder, which felt… He rolled his head to the side and snickered when he found himself patting Derek’s ass.

He groaned. “Are you petting my ass?”

“It was mostly an accident.” Stiles moved closer and nipped the skin, making Derek jump. He rested his cheek on his…cheek, then laughed. “Your butt is like a pillow.”

“You’re a jerk.”

“It’s the best pillow.” He rubbed the back of his thigh consolingly. “Sorry. You melted my brain.”

Derek grunted again. “D’you know where your shirt is?”

“Ummm. No. Why?”

He rocked his hip slightly, making Stiles turn his head. 

His shirt was crumpled at the base of the craft-pantry door; his boxers were caught on the door. “My god, we’re terrible people. What have we done?” He spotted Derek’s underwear on the teacher’s desk. 

“Completely debauched the eight year old classroom,” Derek muttered.

“Debauched.” Stiles smacked his leg. “You’re such a nerd, I love you.” He kissed his long-since-faded bite mark and sat up, running a hand through his sweaty hair. 

Derek smiled, head resting on his bicep. “I love you, too.” 

Stiles scratched his knee and stretched. The floor was like ice, causing him to shiver as he cooled off. “You know, one day we’re going to get walked in on, or stumble into an occupied room.” 

“Our luck has held so far.” He stretched his back, so content that Stiles was surprised he didn’t start purring. 

“Yeah, we should definitely keep pushing it, see if we get caught.” He pinched Derek’s calf when he smirked lazily. “Get dressed before someone starts looking for us. I’m not sure how long we have until another group arrives.”

He sighed heavily and made it as far as sitting up, sort of; he leaned heavily against Stiles’s back, face tucked into the crook of his neck.

Stiles rubbed his thigh briskly. “Better hurry. Claudia could come looking for us.” It was doubtful, but possible. 

Derek winced. “You think so?”

“Well, better her than Erica. She’d just ask to watch.” 

He snorted. “She’s just talking. I don’t think she’d actually want to watch.”

Stiles hummed, still stroking Derek’s leg. “I dunno, she’s pretty adventurous. I don’t think she’s bluffing.” He shrugged. “Either way, I’d prefer not to get caught naked. And I’m freezing, so clothes are essential right now.” 

Derek flicked his tongue out along the edge of his jaw. “We could warm up again.”

He let his head roll back, exposing more of his throat. “We could…but the door is still not locked. C’mon, you have to help me get my boxers down.”

He smiled and brushed his nose back and forth across Stiles’s cheek. “Okay.”

 

Boyd accosted them in the hall by the gym, as they were heading home for showers. He glanced between them, brows lifted a bit, but didn’t comment. “Have either of you seen Erica?”

Stiles’s heart jumped. “Not since around three. Why? Have you been looking long?”

He shook his head. “No, not long. I have to cancel our plans tonight, that’s all.” 

Derek looked interested. “Oh? Why?”

“Alpha Hale has all the techs working on something. It’s—a complicated task, that’s all. Danny wants all of us working on it.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes. “What’s the task, exactly?”

“I’m not supposed to talk about the details, and I’m still technically on probation, so I don’t want to push it. I can tell you it has something to do with the public. Or what’s left of it anyway.”

Stiles winced guiltily. “Alright.”

Boyd nodded. “If you see Erica, could you send her my way?”

“Sure. No problem.”

He nodded again and left, putting his hands in his pockets as he walked.

“Wonder what they’re doing.”

Derek laughed and kissed his cheek. “At least let him get around the corner.”

“I wasn’t asking him, I was just thinking out loud.”

“I can hear someone coming—sounds like maybe Cora? Let’s go shower. _Please_.”

Stiles allowed him to pull him down the hall, grinning the whole way. “We should be quick. Come to my place, that way when the next group arrives, we don’t have to hunt everyone down one by one.” 

“Sure.”

Claudia was in the living room when they got there, curled up on the couch watching a movie. She observed them. “Should I leave?”

Derek stuttered out something that sounded like _please help_ and _no._

Stiles glanced at him. “No. We were going to shower.”

Derek made a strangled noise.

“Alright.”

Stiles grabbed his wrist and dragged him to his bedroom, trying not to laugh. “What’s wrong?”

“She’s going to think we’re showering _together_ ,” he hissed. 

“She’s a werewolf with a working nose. I’m pretty sure she knows _why_ we want to shower in the middle of the evening.” Stiles rolled his eyes. “You can go first, if you want. I’ll be fine waiting.”

Derek nodded and scrambled for the bathroom. 

Stiles had to remember that Derek had a hero worship thing going on with Claudia. He would have to be a little nicer about it, at least. He wandered back to the living room while Derek washed up, leaning up against the wall next to the hall, letting the cold of the cement seep through his t-shirt.

“John wants me to move back in here.” She looked at him.

“It’s your home, too,” Stiles mumbled grudgingly. “I’m not surprised. He missed you.”

“Do _you_ want me to move back in?”

Stiles thought about it. For himself, he was thinking…no. He didn’t really want to share his space with her; she was a stranger, and her presence was unsettling enough in the bunker. But he wouldn’t be living here forever, and she wasn’t a stranger to his dad, who had missed her enormously. “Yes,” he replied.

Her brows quirked. “You aren’t lying.” 

“I know.”

She nodded. “Alright. I think I will.”

“Good.” Stiles nodded, too, and stood there awkwardly until Derek came out of the bathroom. 

His hair was wet and he was stretching out one of Stiles’s shirts, but a reprieve was a reprieve. 

“See you in a minute,” Stiles muttered, darting past.

He tried to keep his showers quick and economical these days. Deep thought and introspection just led to misery or flashbacks, so he avoided both. It helped that Derek had used most of the hot water, not that that was going to stop him from complaining bitterly about it.

Derek was on the couch with Claudia when he returned, telling her about the night she rescued him. Stiles only realized then that this was probably the first time the two of them had gotten to talk alone. He slipped into his bedroom and leaned against the door, closing his eyes. He guessed between John and Derek, he was going to get a lot of time to get used to her.


	11. Chapter 11

“Hey, um—Stiles!” 

He stopped, turning, and spotted Kira’s father leaning out of the fifteen year old classroom. “Yeah?”

“Ken Yukimura,” he said hastily. “Can you keep an eye on this class for me? Just for ten minutes. It’s urgent, or I’d grab another teacher,” he added.

Stiles looked around with no small degree of panic; for once, he was completely alone in the hall, no one else in sight to rescue him. “Well, um. I’m not, uh—I’m not really—”

Ken was not swayed by his stammering for some reason. “Right. They’re teenagers, not badgers. Ten minutes. Show them the eight knives you’re carrying or something.”

Stiles scowled at him. “How did you-”

“Please. Ten minutes and I’ll be back. They’ll be good. _Won’t_ you?” he asked pointedly, turning back to the class.

“Yes, sir,” the class chorused. 

“I’m not great with kids,” Stiles mumbled, inching back.

“Good thing they’re teenagers and not goats, then. Come on, let me introduce you,” Ken said, putting his hand between Stiles’s shoulders and propelling him forward. “Don’t let them kill each other or leave, and good luck,” he chattered, ushering him into the classroom. 

About twenty-seven teenagers stared at him. It was unnerving.

“Guys, this is Stiles. He’s a nice guy who doesn’t deserve to be tortured. He’s in charge until I get back.” He clapped Stiles on the back and left. 

He watched him go, feeling like the last man on a sinking ship watching the only lifeboat drift away. He looked back at the class, then at the board. “What’re you guys learning about?”

“When supernaturals revealed themselves to the world and how that changed things,” one of the girls said, eyeing him apprehensively. “Society,” she added. 

“Useless bullshit,” a boy in the back muttered. He was sitting with a cluster of others who all looked annoyed and had brands on their faces. Rescues, then, from the camps.

“Why do you think that?”

The kid looked startled, but he covered it quickly with a jerky shrug. “We should be learning more combat and how to protect ourselves.” 

Stiles bobbed his head.

The boy looked encouraged. “It’s dangerous out there, and we all know it’s going to come to a fight. We should be ready.”

“It’s important to know our history,” one of the bunker kids said quickly. He cut a quick, guilty glance at Stiles, then away. “But it would be nice to know more fighting stuff,” he added in a mumble. 

“Have you guys been doing the basic defense lessons?” Stiles couldn’t remember if everyone was still getting them. 

“Sometimes. There aren’t enough instructors for us to go every day,” another girl said, tacking on, “…sir?” uncertainly. 

Stiles shook his head. “Want to learn some now?”

The class looked around, intrigued or alarmed. 

“Okay.”

Stiles had them move their desks out of the way and emptied his various sheaths onto Ken’s desk. The kids looked a bit wide-eyed when he turned back. “Anyone want to volunteer to go first?”

Ten minutes turned into half an hour, not that Stiles noticed. Ken returned and watched for a moment as Stiles coached them through some maneuvers. Most of them had basic knowledge—they started as young as their parents allowed in the bunker—which made it easier.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Ken called out. “Sorry that took so long,” he added. “Alpha Hale needed a word and, well, you don’t just rush the Alpha. Can you guys thank Stiles for teaching you?”

One of the boys gave him a spontaneous hug before he left, too. That was kind of nice, but he was probably going to avoid the classrooms forever now.

Derek was in the hallway when he left the room. “Hey. You disappeared.”

He waggled his thumb over his shoulder. “Ken needed some help.”

“Ah.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Mom wants to talk to us.” He, Erica, and Stiles had been tense for a couple of days; Laura and the team had gone out for a group after a tip from a liaison. “She didn’t say what it was about.” He looked grim.

Stiles swallowed and tried to keep calm. There was nothing to worry about, he was sure. He felt his palms get damp and wished the bunker had better access to the outside. He rubbed his face. “Okay.” He held a hand out and smiled a little when Derek took it. “She’s in her office?”

“Dad says she practically sleeps in there.” 

Stiles snorted. “Ah. There’s the family resemblance between her and Peter.”

“Yeah, they’re both…dedicated.” He swept his thumb back and forth across Stiles’s knuckles. “I’m sure everything is fine or they’d have told us right away.” 

“Right,” Stiles murmured. 

It didn’t bode well that Erica was there as well, and Ian, standing at the edge of Talia’s desk. Talia was seated, shuffling papers around on her desk looking harried. 

“Took you guys long enough,” Erica huffed. 

“Stiles was helping watch a class.” Derek squeezed his hand. 

“There’s no bad news, if that’s why you both look so grim,” Talia said, rubbing her face. “Or at least, no _new_ bad news.”

They glanced at each other, then each took a seat. “So what is it about?”

“The Pack is going public. Sort of. We’re making videos. Danny’s been working the techs night and day for this.” She set her hands palm-up on her desk. “We’re going to make multiple videos and broadcast them wherever possible. Prime News is underground but still airing when they can, and they’ll play a video from us. That, the internet, and whatever other networks Danny can get into, will be our platform. We’re trying to reach every supernatural, liaison, and ally possibly left out there.”

“Why?” Derek asked slowly. 

“Before we start the fight, we’ll need as many people on our side as we can get. Reaching out is our last effort before we begin.” Talia pressed her hands together. “The bunkers are overcrowded, we’re struggling to get food here without being discovered. It’s time.” 

Stiles nodded. He’d felt the tension rising for a while, could sense it was getting close to breaking point. “What will the videos…be?”

“We’re getting people—rescues, field operatives, _me_ —to make videos of themselves—reading from a script, of course. As many faces as we can get. They know I’m an Alpha, from the interviews I did last year.” She shifted her gaze from Stiles to Derek, then Erica. “I was hoping you three would do a video each.” 

Stiles laughed involuntarily. “Sorry. I’m not exactly a poster boy for the Pack.” He looked at Derek, who also looked uncomfortable. 

Erica frowned. “Who else are you asking?”

“Some of the rescues. People who’ve been fighting. You don’t have to do it. Here.” She slid a sheet of paper across the desk to each of them.

Stiles looked at it. It was fairly basic, and didn’t really give any information out about their whereabouts or actions. Reassuring supernaturals that they were still fighting, giving sanctuary to them. It also told them that they were recruiting. ‘We can arm you if you’ll help us to help yourselves.’ It reassured the supernaturals that they were still there, still resisting, and reminded everyone else that they weren’t going to lay back and wait to be executed. 

“We just have to say this?” Stiles gestured with the paper. “To a camera?”

“Yes. Danny will handle the rest.”

Stiles nodded. “Alright.” He held up a hand. “I’m worried, though. We shouldn’t reach out to human allies directly. And we should be careful taking them in.” 

“We need-” Ian began. 

“But an OWH supporter could pose as an ally. The ones I’ve encountered always seem too self-righteous to bother hiding their contempt for supernaturals, but that doesn’t mean they _can’t._ ” Stiles twisted his fingers together. “We could be infiltrated.” 

Talia nodded. “We’ll have to set up safety measures, make sure we don’t bring the enemy into our midst. We’ll question them, keep them separate from the supernatural residents until we’re sure. We can’t turn people away,” she added. “We’re desperate.” 

Stiles picked at his knee. “Okay.”

Derek sighed. “I’ll do it, too.”

Erica frowned at the script. “No.” She put it on the desk. “I don’t—I don’t want to do that. It’s—it makes—” She closed her mouth and shook her head. She’d managed to pull her hair back into a tail, but it was short enough that it was slipping out.

“That’s alright, Erica, you don’t have to explain,” Ian said, crouching beside her chair. He murmured something Stiles couldn’t hear, then rubbed her arm.

Stiles shrugged. “I’ll still do it.”

“Alright. If you head to the tech lab, Danny will handle the rest.” 

Derek looked unsettled as they went to the lab.

“What’s wrong?”

“Erica seemed scared.”

Stiles moved his shoulders restlessly. “We all experience paranoia pretty frequently.” 

“Yeah, I know. That’s…probably all it was.”

Everyone was in the tech lab looked exhausted; Boyd had a frankly dangerous looking pallor as he snapped at them to go into the room Danny set up to make the videos.

“Do you guys want to go together or separately? Never mind, separate is better. Derek, wait out there. Stiles, sit down.” Danny darted around the room with the jerky speed of someone subsiding on sugar and caffeine. 

Claudia came in, followed by a group of about six others, after Stiles finished his video, so he awkwardly made himself useful helping Foster set up chairs in a make-shift waiting area while Derek finished up his video. Claudia nodded at him and observed the room Danny was using to make the videos. Stiles spun to find something else to do, and sighed.

Boyd was asleep standing by the fridge. 

Stiles poked his arm, jolting him awake. “Dude, why don’t you take a nap in the break room? Can’t do anything while he’s making videos.” 

“Have to monitor the connections.” He mumbled something else that was either too garbled or too technical for Stiles to understand. 

“Show me how to monitor it. Then if it does anything weird, I’ll come get you.” 

Boyd blinked blearily at him. “Alright.” He propelled Stiles toward his desk. “If anything changes _at all_ except that,” he pointed at a row of numbers, “come get me. If the numbers go down, come get me. Okay?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thanks,” he sighed and shuffled off.

Stiles sat down. There was a pen and a blank paper on Boyd’s desk, which he gladly grabbed for doodling. 

Across the lab, Derek, finished with his video told Foster to take a break, too. She argued, but it wasn’t long until she joined Boyd in the break room. 

A couple other techs were asleep at their desks, but all of their screens looked like Boyd’s and Foster’s, so Stiles and Derek split the room and paced, watching as many screens as they could for changes. It only took about an hour for everyone in the waiting area to finish. They seemed to be waiting for Claudia, so once she emerged, they followed her like ducklings back out of the lab.

She threw a smile over her shoulder at Stiles, which he returned automatically. 

“Come get me if anyone else comes for videos,” Danny said, and laid face down on the floor in front of his desk. 

Someone started snoring from the breakroom. 

“Jeeze,” Stiles murmured. “I wonder if anyone from the other labs can help in here. They look like a bunch of zombies.”

The last tech standing shot him a dead-eyed glare. 

“If you can watch mine for a minute, I can run and find out.” Derek tilted his head to study a man sleeping at his desk, head thrown back, mouth wide open. 

“Yeah, I got it.” He expanded his pacing to Derek’s side of the room. Since he didn’t have to do anything but watch, it wasn’t too difficult. 

Derek returned with Heather, Penny, and Jeff. “They know how to use this stuff.”

Jeff rolled his eyes. “Penny and I worked in here.” 

“And I can help out enough to give people a break,” Heather said. She looked at the guy sleeping with his head back and gently wheeled his chair away, so she could look at his computer.

“Oh, good. They’re all exhausted, I thought-”

Danny leaped up like he’d received a shock. “Holy god,” he breathed, hunching over his computer. “Fuck!” 

“What? What’s going on?”

He snatched up the phone on the wall. “We need medical personnel at the perimeter gate immediately!” He hung up and pressed one. “Talia, there was an explosion. Several teams were reporting in, not sure who was hurt.”

Stiles took off first, with Derek half a step behind him. His team was on their way back; they might’ve been caught in the blast. 

Chelsea had the garage doors open; she and her crew were running around extinguishing the fires when they got there, helping the medical staff find people in the wreckage. One van was damaged; the rest were far enough away to only get superficial burns. The people, however, were injured. 

Stiles spotted Kira and ran, skidding to a stop at her side. “Where are you hurt?” he demanded, shoving a piece of scalding hot car door off her.

She shook her head, frowning at him. Her arm was broken and she had some burns, but most of them were healing. “Door blocked me,” she told him loudly. “Can’t hear. Blast.” 

“Okay, look, someone’s coming now.”

“Scott?”

“I’ll find him.”

She still couldn’t hear him, but she must’ve gotten the gist, because she let an orderly get her into a wheelchair. 

Stiles found Cora and Jordan next, curled around a couple of kids they must’ve grabbed to shield from the blast. 

Cora had burns across her back and shoulder that weren’t healing—they looked like they were getting worse. “Silver,” she grunted, trying not to move. “The bastard had silver in the bomb.” She let the little girl she was holding get up, hissing when the movement stretched the burns. 

“I’ve got her. Someone needs to get Laura,” Jordan snapped. He lifted the girl he’d helped and moved her. “Go to the doctors, okay? Take your sister.” He yanked a piece of metal out of his forearm and shifted onto his knees. “Lay down until they get here with a gurney, Cora,” he ordered. 

Derek had found Scott, who had burns like Cora’s across his chest, throat, and shoulder. “Get Laura,” he grunted, nodding at her. 

She was on her side and not moving, a piece of shrapnel gouging her leg, which looked broken. Silver glittered over her prone form. 

Stiles turned her, enough to get a look at her face, and swore. Her left eye was badly damaged, the glint of silver dusting her face. There was so much blood that Stiles couldn’t tell if her eye was still…intact. 

Melissa dragged a gurney to him. “Oh, Laura,” she gasped. 

Stiles lifted her gingerly with Melissa’s help onto the gurney. “Is she—her eye, is-”

“We need to go, Stiles,” Melissa replied, leaving him standing there with blood and soot on his arms. 

Several others, operatives and rescues alike, were injured, and only one person had died.

“I don’t understand,” Stiles said through his teeth. “Why would a vampire set a bomb?” 

“We don’t know.” Ry scooped up some twisted pieces of the van that had taken the brunt of the explosion. 

“Hey!” Chelsea stopped by Stiles’s shoulder. “Argent is demanding to speak to the Alpha. He’s been making a racket and pissing Diane off since the explosion.” She prodded Stiles’s shoulder. “Go find out what’s going on.”

“Why?”

“So you can come back and tell us, obviously.”

He looked at the mess they were still cleaning up.

“We’ve got it. Just go.”

Derek had gone to the infirmary, but Stiles was too nervous to go there and had remained behind to help clean up. He guessed finding out what the hell Chris wanted would give him something to do.

Diane was already escorting Chris when Stiles got there. “Good.” She bared her teeth when she saw him. “You can help me keep an eye on him.”

Chris’s hands were zip-tied behind his back. Stiles glared at him. “What do you want to ask her?”

He stared straight ahead. “I’d like to speak to the Alpha.” 

Diane rolled her eyes. “Don’t bother. That’s all he says.” 

Talia was red-eyed and out for blood when they got to her office, which didn’t bode well for Chris’s continued good health. “Mr. Argent, now is _not_ the time to negotiate your release,” she snarled, snapping her fangs with an audible _clack_.

“I don’t want to talk about that. The explosion was caused by a supernatural, right?”

She stared at him, nostrils twitching. “Yes,” she bit out. “Why?”

“At this stage, people—new recruits, fanatics—working for the OWH will likely volunteer to be turned in order to carry out missions like this.” 

Talia shook her head. “The attacker died. It’s suicide. Why-”

“Fanatics, Alpha Hale. Dying for their cause. Death was the point. The dead can’t talk.”

She turned away, covering her face and dragging in ragged breaths. 

“How do we keep this from happening again?” Ian murmured. He looked infuriated. 

“You’ll have to search everyone before bringing them here.” Chris addressed Talia as if she’d spoken. “Question them before bringing them to the bunker, give something similar to a polygraph. Whatever you can to weed out liars and spies.” 

Talia shook her head and faced them again. “These people are scared and traumatized already. They’ve been through hell, just to get treated like criminals in a safe place?”

“Nowhere is safe if you don’t take precautions,” Chris shot back. “Like it or not, we are about to go to war, Alpha Hale. Healing and therapy can come after. We’re in the middle of everything, everyone here and everyone who’s coming here. No one can afford to step back.”

Stiles swallowed, dropping his gaze. Whatever Talia said, Chris was right. They were teetering on the edge of actual, full-on war, and sitting out was a non-option. 

“Fine.” Talia cleared her throat. “We’ll set up searches and questions for new arrivals before they come here. Ian.” 

He stepped forward. 

“I’ll make an announcement. We’ll have all the teams ready to do a search and questioning before they return. More intensive questioning will have to wait until they get here. Please inform Danny of these changes so he can tell the teams still out. Then please go check on the injured.”

Ian nodded and left quickly.

“Is that all, Mr. Argent?”

“For now.”

Diane nodded and took him back out of the room.

“Cora and Laura are alive,” Stiles said carefully. “So’s Scott. They’re hurt but alive.”

“Thank you, Stiles.” Talia straightened up. “Excuse me.”

Stiles stood in the hall for a long moment. He was shaking all over, so hard his teeth clacked together. Chris was right. In the end, they were all going to have to fight.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!! :D I like this chapter a lot x.x

Talia got to work alerting active teams to the changes in protocol. She also had Danny send an emergency message to the other Alphas to let them know of the new threat. They’d apparently done the same thing when they cured the rabids, which Stiles hadn’t known. 

Stiles went and filled Chelsea in, and then he drifted until John found him. 

“Who was hurt?” he demanded, apparently recognizing his expression.

“Almost everyone. Kira and Jordan are already healing and okay.”

“Let’s go see them.”

Stiles shook his head. “What if one of them…”

“Then you’ll know you went to see them at least. You’re just going to get more and more wound up the longer you wait.”

“Alright.”

Derek was sitting with Scott, Cora, and Kira. He looked up when they walked in. His eyes were bloodshot. “Laura’s still being seen.” 

Scott sat up, wincing. “She’s going to be fine, okay? Her injuries were just more perilous than ours.” 

Derek glanced at Stiles, brows beetled, then looked back at Scott. “What?” he asked gently. 

Scott was frowning. “I…Laura’s…wounds are…prickly.” He looked confused. “Thorny. Discreet.” He shook his head. 

Derek leaped up. “We need help over here!” he shouted while Stiles ran to Scott’s bed. 

John took off to find someone.

“You okay? What’s wrong?” Now that he was closer, he could see blood seeping from a cut on the back of Scott’s head and from his ear. 

“I can’t…” He looked hazy. “It’s my head,” he said, eyes fluttering. He tipped forward, but Stiles caught him, trying not to press on his burns while he held him up. 

Dr. Deaton rushed over, easing Scott back on the bed. “What was he saying?”

“Odd words in odd places. He said ‘it’s my head’ before he tipped over.” 

Deaton nodded and kicked up the wheel guards on Scott’s bed, pulling him away.

Stiles pressed his knuckles against his mouth. “Shit.” He flinched away when John tried to hold his shoulder, backing up until he hit the wall. He wiped at his cheek absently.

“I’ll go check on him. And Laura,” John murmured, walking away. 

Cora stared after them, twisting her burns and hissing. “Is he okay?”

“He’ll be fine.” Derek took a cup of water to her and set his hand on her uninjured wrist, drawing her pain away.

Kira looked at her arm mournfully. “Mom’s not going to be happy.”

Stiles lifted his brows. 

“I was supposed to help train today.” Her eyes were dark and dazed, like she still hadn’t quite processed everything that had happened. 

“I think she’ll forgive you.” He sat by her bed, feeling a little lost.

John returned looking pale and grim. “Scott will be back in a couple hours. He’s already healing.” 

“So they don’t think it’s permanent?”

“No, they don’t.”

Derek cleared his throat. “What about Laura? Did you…did you hear anything about her?”

John grimaced. “She’s alive, that’s all that matters.” 

Derek nodded, but he looked afraid, like he was trying to read between the lines and didn’t like what he was seeing. 

Stiles looked at Kira. “Talia is taking care of it,” he told her. “She’s making sure this doesn’t happen again.”

She blinked slowly at him. “But—what are the odds that this happens today? We haven’t even released the videos yet.” 

“I don’t know.” He didn’t understand, either. He couldn’t imagine an OWH supporter or employee voluntarily becoming a vampire; he remembered the woman who’d gone outside to kill herself at one of the werewolf camps. She’d been bitten by an alpha werewolf and had decided that death was better than life as one of the people she was helping to imprison. Even if the goal was death in the end, why? Just…why? He couldn’t wrap his brain around such needless cruelty. 

“They hate us enough,” Cora said in a rough, choked voice, “that they would die for the chance to hurt us.”

John crossed to her bed and, when he put his arm gingerly around her shoulders, she curled into him. 

Scott was brought back out a few hours later. He had no new visible injuries, and he looked like they’d cleaned him up. His burns were shiny and freshly washed. He was also unconscious, though Dr. Deaton assured them he was just sleeping. 

Derek left Cora’s bed to get a chair. He set it between her and Scott’s bed and sat between them, his arms crossed tightly across his chest. His face was pale, eyes sunken like the weight of the incident was sucking the life out of him. 

Stiles noticed Mrs. and Mr. Yukimura coming into the infirmary and jumped to his feet. “I’ll be back later,” he muttered, and fled. He only made it one hall over. It was empty and quiet, which was what he wanted. He felt impatient and frozen in terror at once, like he’d already been asked to fight again. He could practically feel the weight of his side arm against his palm, the heavy realness of it, could practically smell the gunpowder that would cling to his hair and clothes and burn the inside of his nose. He rubbed his cheek, half expecting his hand to come away bloody. Of course it didn’t. The warmth was in his head. 

“What are you afraid of?”

Stiles jumped, smacking his head against the wall behind him and swearing viciously. 

Claudia lifted her brows. “Besides me,” she said after a moment.

“I’m worried about Laura and the others,” he muttered. “I thought this hall was empty. I can go.”

“You’re afraid of something, not worried.” She sat down against the wall across from him, crossing her legs. She was wearing clothes from the laundry room, where they kept everything people didn’t want or couldn’t fit in anymore. John had gotten rid of her clothes a decade ago, but she didn’t seem bothered by that. “What is it?”

Stiles eyed her warily. He sighed and sat down, too, a few feet to the left so they weren’t directly across from each other. He let his hands rest in his lap and stared at his palms. “They—the Pack is getting ready to fight.”

Claudia nodded like she was acknowledging that fact rather than accepting it as the reason he was scared.

It annoyed him that she seemed to understand little things about him while he still couldn’t read her. “I’m afraid they’re going to ask me to fight,” he spat, baring his teeth. 

“Why?” She looked calm, like his outburst didn’t bother her. 

“I—because I’m not—I’m still not ready for…to be…” He swallowed and stopped, dropping his gaze to his hands again.

“What are you really afraid of?” She leaned in, looking into his face with an almost hard expression, softened only slightly by the possibility of genuine concern in her eyes. 

Stiles could swear he heard a bone saw buzzing in his ears. “I’m afraid of what I’ll do.”

“Like what?”

He twisted his hands together. “What if I really am a monster?” His voice was low and furtive, spilling a shameful secret into the air. “What if, once I’m out there, I’m not…me…anymore? Because…because I’d do anything for the people I love, and that scares me.” 

Her gaze didn’t waver, tone betraying nothing. “Do you enjoy hurting people?” 

Stiles recoiled. “No!” 

“Do you desire to repeat what you did? Do you fantasize about it?”

“Stop it! No!” He clenched his hands together so tightly his nails cut into his skin. 

“Why did you do it?”

“Because it felt like my only choice,” he rasped. 

She sat back. “Then I see no reason to fear doing it again.” 

He glared at her.

“We’ve all killed. That doesn’t make us monsters.” 

He laughed dryly. “Then what _does_ it make us?”

“Survivors, I think.” She glanced at his twisting hands. “Would you rather stay behind when we fight?” 

“ _No_.” 

“Why? You’d be given a choice.” She tapped her fingers across her leg. “You wouldn’t stay behind because you want to stop the OWH and everything they stand for. Right?”

He nodded.

“Then I don’t suppose that makes you a monster.”

“What if I forget where I am? What—what if I hurt someone?” He blurted it all out like he was afraid she would leave before he could ask.

Claudia didn’t look like she was in any hurry to leave. “John used to talk about envisioning boxes with memories in them. The good ones and the important ones were worn soft and easy to reach. The bad ones, the ones that slow you down and make you suffer, those get locked up in fireproof safes and put away.” She shrugged. “I never could do that, put it away until I had time to deal with it, but he was always good at it.”

Stiles tried a smile that sagged under the weight of his fear. “I wonder what happens when the safe breaks open though.”

“You don’t give it the chance,” she replied promptly. “When you can afford to, you deal with as much as you can. It frees up space for the new horrors.”

“Oh.” He rubbed at phantom warmth on his face. “I guess that would be the smart thing.” 

“Are you going to fight?”

“Are you?”

“Yes. I’ve been out for too long. I’d love a chance to strike back.” She picked lint off her knee. “They tortured and experimented on me for almost twenty-one years. I wouldn’t miss their defeat for anything.” 

Stiles nodded. “Do you think…” His throat felt tight, and, to his horror, tears flooded his eyes. “Do you think Dad will—will want to—?”

Claudia’s back stiffened, as if it hadn’t occurred to her that John might go out there with them. “I’m not sure.”

Stiles rubbed his palms against his jeans. “If we go, we can’t stop him from going.”

She nodded, her gaze going distant. “I used to think about both of you while I was there. I’d try to remember how old you were, and imagine how you looked as you got older. How John looked.” 

“Sorry to disappoint,” he mumbled, pulling his knees to his chest. 

She frowned at him. “You haven’t.”

He rolled his eyes. “You left behind a four-year-old kid, and came back to a messed up twenty-five-year-old.” 

“Was rescued by my adult son,” she corrected. “Who followed in my footsteps, fighting for a cause we both believe in. You make me proud.” She curled her knees up, too, mirroring his position. “I’m sad that I missed out on your life, I’m angry that they stole those years from us. But you make me proud.” 

Derek found them like that. He looked between them, then cautiously sat beside Stiles, putting his arm around his shoulders. “They haven’t let us see Laura,” he murmured.

Stiles rested his head on Derek’s shoulder. “I’m sure she’s okay.” 

“Are you guys okay?” He looked down at Stiles’s face, brushing a kiss across his temple.

“Yeah.”

Claudia nodded. “Have you seen John? I think I need to talk to him.”

“He’s in the infirmary telling Cora stories.” Derek tucked a smile against Stiles’s hair. “She likes hearing about munitions runs, and he likes exaggerating because she knows he is.” 

“Ah.” She stood up and brushed off her pants. “Thanks. I’ll see you later.” She left the way Derek had come from.

“I’m glad you two are talking,” Derek murmured. 

“It’s still kind of awkward.” Stiles curled closer to him, rubbing his cheek against his shirt. “I mean…I’m twenty-five and I suddenly have a mother? What do I do with that?”

Derek rubbed his arm. “I don’t really know. I guess just—just be happy she’s alive and try to get to know her?”

Stiles smiled a little. “Did I ever thank you for trying to rescue her?”

He frowned down at him. “What?”

“Back in Montana. You tried to rescue her. Thank you.”

“She saved me first,” he mumbled. He sighed. “Plus, I didn’t get her out. You did.” He swallowed audibly. “Scott’s still sedated, but his burns are healing. Jordan’s in there with them,” he added. “Check in.”

“Good.” Stiles picked at a loose thread on his pants. “We should go find Isaac.”

“Last I heard, he was in the gun range, practicing.” He stood and helped Stiles to his feet. “Mom’s still telling them to air the videos.” 

“Why?’ 

“Because she and Alpha Santos consider this a declaration of war.” His face looked ashen. “They want us all to be prepared because as soon as Alpha Ito agrees it’s time, we’re leaving the bunker.” 

“We?”

“Everyone who’s fighting.” He shrugged. “You go, I go. My whole family is going to go. I wouldn’t be able to stand staying here.” 

“Even Peter?”

“Even Peter.”

Stiles grimaced. He preferred his scientist friends safe in their lab. “I wonder if all the lab techs are going.”

“Dad said anyone who can fight and wants to is allowed.” He pulled a hand through his hair. “I guess it’s time.” 

Neither of them were ready for it to be “time”. Stiles guessed they would have to be anyway. 

 

Isaac was just finishing target practice when they found him. He put his protective gear and equipment away before he approached them. “Hey.” He looked between them. “What’s wrong? Did—Erica said no one died in the explosion.” 

“No one did. We were just checking on you. Do you want to come visit them?”

“Yes. But at two, I’m supposed to go to the gym.” 

“We’ll get you there in time.” 

He nodded and followed them into the hall.

Stiles watched him out of the corner of his eye as they walked. He was carrying himself differently already, walking on the balls of his feet without realizing it, turning his head slightly as he instinctively tracked sounds. It was odd for Stiles to see, but it always was easier for werewolves when they started training. Some of the stuff that Stiles had had to learn—moving quietly, watching everything around him at once, protecting his center—were things that came instinctively to them. 

“What?”

“Huh?”

“You’re staring,” Isaac muttered. 

“Nothing. I was just wondering how your training was coming along.”

He nodded. “I think it’s okay. I can get back up faster now, and Leah doesn’t cringe when I go into the knife room anymore.” 

“That’s good.” 

“Erica’s in the infirmary,” Derek murmured as they got near. 

Scott was awake and listening to Erica read from a colorful novel she’d brought with her. He had a sort of hazy expression on his face, like he was still getting his bearings. 

“What’re you reading?”

Erica held up the book. “I figured some sorcery fun would give everyone a distraction.” 

Cora appeared to be listening, too, but Kira was sleeping, holding her father’s hand while Mrs. Yukimura spoke to Jordan over by the doors. 

“Nice.” Stiles followed Derek to a chair and sat on the floor between his knees. 

Isaac crawled on Scott’s bed with him, huffing a little until he settled at Scott’s side. 

He smiled. “You smell,” he said pleasantly, and bumped his chin against Isaac’s head. 

“I was training,” he muttered. He also curled closer, so he obviously wasn’t too insulted. 

“Everyone done?” Erica looked around. “Good.” She cleared her throat and lifted the book again. ““My current verdict would be: Crazy eyes. Nice ass.”,” she read, and Stiles laughed. She glared at him. 

“Sorry, sorry. Go on.” He turned his face against Derek’s leg to muffle his snickering. It felt good to laugh a little. 

Erica read two more chapters before Melissa approached them. Something about her carefully blank expression made all of them fall silent, watching her walk until she stood at the general center of their group. 

Derek dropped his hands on Stiles’s shoulders, squeezing either from nerves or an attempt to comfort him. 

“Laura’s okay,” Melissa said. “She’s probably going to sleep until tomorrow, but she’s okay. We managed to clean the silver from her wounds, so they’re healing like they should.” 

Stiles slumped against Derek’s leg, closing his eyes. 

“Her left eye was badly damaged by the explosion and the silver in it,” she went on stoically. “We cleaned it as well as we could, but it looks like the damage is fairly permanent.”

Derek’s claws pierced Stiles’s shirt, prickling at his skin but not puncturing. “She’s…blind?”

“In one eye.” Melissa’s blank expression melted away, her features softening. “It’ll be tough on her, but we’ll help her through it.”

Talia and Ian approached from behind. “Help who through what?” Talia asked. Her eyes were tight around the edges, like she’d already guessed who they were talking about but wanted to be told she was wrong. 

Melissa turned to her, stepping closer. She took Talia’s hands. “Laura’s blind in her left eye. It could heal, but I don’t think it will. The silver in the bomb did quite a bit of damage before we could clean it out. You guys can come see her, if you’d like.” 

Ian looked near tears, but Talia took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. She nodded and squeezed Melissa’s hands. “Yes, we want to see her. Thank you.” She looked over at Scott and Cora. “We’ll be right back, okay?”

“Yeah, of course, Mom,” Cora said. “We’re fine, we can wait.” She watched them walk away with a lost expression on her face, like a little kid seeing her parents leave. 

Derek pulled Stiles up into his lap unexpectedly, startling him. He curled his arms around him and hid his face against his chest. 

Stiles ran his hands across his back and shoulders, murmuring that Laura would be alright, even if she might not be. They all needed to hear it.

Everyone was still sitting in stunned silence by the time Talia and Ian returned. After everything else that had happened already, it seemed this—the stopping of the previously unstoppable Laura—was too much for them to process. 

Talia got on the bed with Cora and put her arm around her waist, below her slow-healing burns, and kissed her cheek. “She’ll be alright,” she murmured. 

Ian went to stand by Scott and Isaac, until they made room at the foot of the bed for him to sit on. 

“What now?” Derek asked. He hooked his chin over Stiles’s shoulder and rested his temple against his cheek. 

“Now we air the videos,” Talia said. She straightened up. She may not have been the most sentimental or the sweetest, but Talia Hale could rally with the best of them. “We continue doing rescues, with the new safe guards we’ve set up. I’ll be planning with Alphas Ito and Santos, and when the opportunity arises, we’ll strike.” 

Stiles rubbed Derek’s arm, still wrapped around his waist. “So Alpha Ito is done with the only-rescues thing?”

“She is.” Talia rubbed her eyes. “We all are. There isn’t anywhere safe left to bring anyone. It’s past time to fight.”

Derek nodded, but his legs were tense under Stiles’s, like he was scared. That was okay; Stiles was scared, too. Hell, they were all scared. There was plenty to be afraid of. 

“We’ll be ready,” Stiles said. He felt everyone look at him, but he kept his gaze solely on Talia. “All of us.” 

A smile flickered over her mouth. “I know you will.” She kissed Cora’s cheek again and stood up, brushing at her pants. “I’ll see you all soon. No,” she said when Ian started to rise. “You stay. I’ll go.” She nodded and swept out of the infirmary. 

Isaac rolled off the bed a second later. “Sorry, but I’ve got to get to training. See you at dinner, okay?”

“I’ll walk you,” Stiles offered. He let Derek kiss his neck before he stood up. “Be right back.” He squeezed his shoulder. 

Erica wiped her face and opened her book. She sniffled. “We’re on chapter twelve, I think,” she said, and began reading again.

Isaac looked at his shoes when they got into the hall, his head low like he was trying to say something difficult. “I’m going out there with you guys,” he said quietly. “When the Pack makes a move, I’m going with.” His shoulders tensed like he was expecting an outburst. 

Stiles hated himself a little bit for that. “I’m not surprised. Everyone else is going.” 

Isaac glanced at him. “Yeah,” he mumbled, still looking wary. 

Stiles knocked their elbows together. “We’re family. We should be together, you know. Out there.” He didn’t say _just in case we all die,_ but he thought Isaac probably got the idea anyway. 

He bumped their shoulders together.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooo! Careening headlong into the action, as is my typical style.

Laura woke up like an angry bear coming out of hibernation: teeth, claws, ready to shred whatever stood too close—in this case, her IV bag and a pillow.

They kept everyone back until Laura calmed down; Dr. Genesco was sent in with the idea that he’d be able to hold his own against her if she freaked out again. 

Stiles had his doubts. He’d almost escaped from the guy, after all. But he guessed Dr. Genesco was a better choice than Melissa and Deaton getting their faces ripped off, what with the quick healing and all.

It’d been a day and a half since the explosion. Kira’s arm was healed, so she’d taken to entertaining Scott and Cora while their burns healed. Melissa assured them all it wouldn’t be too much longer. 

“I hope she’s okay,” Kira said softly, staring at the privacy curtain drawn around Laura’s bed. 

Derek had turned on a radio between Cora and Scott’s beds to muffle the conversation, so she actually got some privacy.

Stiles paced. 

Talia and the other Alphas had aired the videos. Other teams were taking longer to return because they had to search and question each supernatural they rescued. It was like even the relative safety of the bunker was crumbling. 

Stiles wondered if the others could feel it as much as he could; if they felt like the walls were going to fall to pieces any second.

Erica came in with lunch, tossing sandwiches and chips to everyone. She looked over her shoulder before she sat down, her eyes sunken and bloodshot. “So, Laura’s awake,” she said, flexing her fingers around her chip bag. It would burst if she kept squeezing. 

“Yeah. Dr. Genesco’s talking to her now. She’s a little confused.” Derek lifted his sandwich. “Thank you.” 

She shrugged. “No problem. I was passing the cafeteria anyway.” She released her stranglehold on the chips only to start tugging at the ends of her hair. 

Scott tipped his bag of chips toward Stiles when he paced close to his bed, but he shook his head. Scott looked alarmed. 

“I have my own.” Stiles shook his bag for emphasis and went to sit with Cora, just in case. 

She moved her legs to make room. “You can’t have my apple slices, if that’s why you came over here.”

He forced himself to laugh. “Damn. You caught me.”

She nudged his leg with her toes. “Here.” She passed him a cup of peaches. 

He took them mostly because he could feel the rest of them watching him. He wasn’t particularly hungry, but he’d probably feel better later if he ate. “Thanks,” he said, for good measure. He knew Derek was watching him, so he started eating. 

Dr. Genesco emerged after they’d finished eating, looking harried and irritated. “You can visit her now, but I would advise two at a time, so she doesn’t get overwhelmed.” 

“Fuck off!” 

His expression didn’t change. “As I’m sure you know, this is a difficult time for her.”

“I’m going to ram this clock up your ass if you say _difficult time_ again!” Laura seethed. 

Stiles glanced at Cora, who was beaming; at least Laura sounded like herself. “Why don’t you and Derek go in first?”

“Thanks.” She struggled to get up without stretching her burns. 

Stiles helped her down before Derek could; he was looking torn between going to Laura and helping Cora. 

Erica sighed heavily once they’d gone. “Us next, lover?” She put her head on his knee. 

“Yeah, we’ll go next. Or you and Scott can,” he added quickly, wincing. Scott was part of Laura’s pack; he should go see her first. 

Scott shook his head. “Nah, man, you can go first.” He smiled. “This way, Erica can protect you if Laura decides to throw things.” 

“Shut-up, McCall!” Laura shouted.

Stiles lifted his brows. “Damn, you got last named.”

Scott rolled his eyes. 

Erica squeezed Stiles’s ankle. “Talia’s gonna talk to the whole faction soon.” 

His heart slammed against his ribs. “Oh?”

She closed her eyes and pressed closer. “I think she’s going to tell us it’s time.” 

Scott frowned at her. “Will you come?”

She didn’t lift her head. “Of course.”

Stiles stroked her hair. “We’re all going.” He glanced at Scott. “I told Isaac the other night. We’re family. We should stay together.” 

Scott nodded. “Okay.” 

Derek and Cora came out together; it was almost comical, how similar they looked trying to discreetly wipe their eyes. 

Stiles didn’t want to see Laura laid out; he didn’t want to see her weakened as she’d never been before. But he did want to see _her_ , so he guessed he was going.

Erica grabbed his hand before they went. 

Laura was sitting up in bed, teeth bared and apparently ready to go. “Don’t treat me like an invalid,” she snapped. “Once I figure out how to shoot with this thing,” she gestured dismissively at the gauze taped over her left eye, “you’re all going to wish you’d been practicing instead of moping around in here.”

Stiles cracked a smile, even though he felt like crying. The gauze covered the damage, but she was angry and ready to lash out, which, in Laura, meant she was scared. 

“You couldn’t outshoot me with both eyes, boss, I’m not worried,” Erica said.

Stiles stiffened, but Laura barked out a laugh. 

“You’re on. We’ll both wear an eyepatch, see who hits closest to the center.” She grinned, losing some of the tension in her shoulders. 

“We’ll do a pirate themed shooting contest.” Erica sat at the foot of Laura’s bed. “We’ll win, obviously, but it’ll be nice to give other people a fighting chance.” 

She nodded, then threw out a hand. “Come here, Stilinski, I’m not going to _bite_ you.” 

He smirked and moved closer, taking her outstretched hand. “Of course you aren’t. That’s Derek’s job.”

She stuck her tongue out at him, then sighed. “I can’t be team lead,” she murmured.

Stiles and Erica looked at each other. “Why do you say that?” he asked slowly, squeezing her hand.

“I’ve got to relearn everything. Can’t lead you guys if I’m running into walls and shit.” She sighed. “That’s okay. I’ll be okay. Once I’m used to it, I’ll be there.” Her lip trembled. “I don’t want to let you all go without me, but I’m not much use if I can’t shoot straight or stay on my feet in a fight.” 

“You aren’t a drunk,” Erica snapped. “It shouldn’t take long to get used to it. So we stay behind a couple days, what-”

“Weeks,” Laura said. She withdrew her hand from Stiles’s and wiped her cheek. “Doc Genesco said it could take weeks for me to be ready to fight. Maybe longer.” 

Stiles stared at her in mute horror. _Weeks?_ So much could happen in weeks. What if there wasn’t anyone left for Laura to lead in weeks?

“Fine,” Erica said. “Then we’ll just have to hold the line for weeks.” 

“They’ll assign a new team lead,” Laura said. “So listen to whoever it is, for my sake.”

Stiles snorted. 

“I mean it. You’ve been off track, but you used to listen to me, Stiles. Listen now: do what you’re told so we can be a team again when I get out.”

He nodded. “Alright,” he mumbled. 

“Good.” Laura flopped back against her pillows. “Now, someone send in McCall. And some _food_. I’m starving.” 

Stiles backed out first, nearly bumping into Ian and Scott. “Sorry,” he mumbled, stepping around them. 

They went in and, a moment later, Erica came out scowling something fierce. “They kicked me out!” 

“The doctor did say only two at a time,” Stiles pointed out. He backed up when she bared her teeth at him. 

Derek looked drawn and upset. “Want to go get some target practice?”

Stiles nodded. “I guess we’d better.” 

Stacy had a class when they got there, but she’d put them in pairs, so there was an empty lane at the end that she let them use. 

It was just a way to pass time, really; if they weren’t ready now, they wouldn’t be at all. The gun felt familiar and weighty in Stiles’s hand; he had to shake off the memory of the lab where he’d found Derek, Claudia, and Erica, but he only had to force it away once. His hands were steady when he took aim.

“Pretty good, as usual, Stilinski,” Stacy observed. “Ready, Hale?”

Derek nodded and took aim.

Before they could switch again, the phone rang. Stacy called for safeties on while she answered. She hung up looking grim just a few moments later. “Alpha Hale wants to speak to everyone in fifteen minutes!” she announced. “Put your gear away!” 

Stiles swallowed thickly. 

He and Derek went to the lab to listen to Talia’s announcement. The rest of the bunker was gathering in the rec rooms and the infirmary to hear it, but Stiles wasn’t sure he could handle the crowd. He’d have to soon enough anyway. Might as well enjoy his space while he could. 

Foster smiled tightly at them when they came in, her jaw tight like she was grinding her teeth. “Erica’s already got your chairs ready, guys.” 

Jordan, Kira, Isaac, and Erica were sitting like an audience behind Danny’s chair. Erica explained, “The others can’t leave the infirmary.” 

Stiles sat in a chair next to her, and Derek sat on the floor between his knees in a reverse of their positions the day before. He rested his cheek against Stiles’s thigh, staring at the screens. 

“Alright, Alpha Hale, you’re ready,” Danny murmured into a comm. 

The screen flicked on, Talia coming into view. Her hair was tied back and she was wearing a black shirt and pants. She looked like she was about to go on a field mission. “The other Alphas and I have decided that it’s time to begin. We’re officially putting a stop to the rescue missions, because we will be leaving the bunkers.” She paused to let the announcement sink in. “It has become clear that the OWH will not stop until we stop them. So that is what we’re going to do. We are outnumbered,” she acknowledged, “but not by much.” Her gaze traveled over the people in the room with her, seeming to scan over the screen. “Anyone over eighteen, who is willing and able to fight can come with us. You will be armed, and we will be together. After every group of fighters has left, we’ll seal the bunker, to keep everyone who remains behind safe. We’ll be keeping in touch. Danny Mahealani and Drina Foster will remain behind to run the tech room, to make sure we can keep in contact.” 

Stiles looked at Danny, surprised, but he just shrugged, keeping his gaze on his screen. 

“When?” Jessa asked, her voice distinct and crisp from the center of the crowd. 

“Today,” Talia replied. “We begin leaving today. We will head to San Francisco first. Alphas Ito and Santos have agreed that because most of the OWH has set up base in the east, we will have to take the west and move east. That’s what we’re going to do. Alpha Santos’s faction will meet us in the city. Alpha Ito plans to move her faction south and to attack first.” She took a deep, steady breath. “Whoever is leaving with us, pack your essentials, your weapons, your gear. We’ll leave in groups.” She nodded sharply. “I will be in the garage preparing, should you have any questions. Thank you.” The screen went black.

Stiles kept staring at it for a moment, wide eyed and dazed. He couldn’t quite believe what he’d heard and yet… He pressed each fingertip into Derek’s shoulders, counting them over and over. 

Isaac took a shaky breath. “I guess we should pack?”

Stiles slowly turned his head. “Have you been fitted for a vest?” he asked, because that was all he could think of: making sure they were all shielded as best they could. 

Isaac nodded. “Everyone has. Last time they did a munitions run, they brought back hundreds of the vests, and they’ve already made sure there was enough for everyone. They didn’t pass them out though. Ian had them make little kits for people who weren’t field operatives already.” 

Stiles frowned. “When did they do that?”

“A few weeks ago, I think. I didn’t mention it because I was busy training, but they brought like a whole truck full of gear.” He looked hesitant. “Should I have mentioned it?”

“No, it’s fine. Good. Everyone should at least have a vest.” 

Erica stood up and walked over to Boyd’s desk. Something about the way her shoulders were set, tilted forward as she walked, told Stiles that they should all take cover. 

He hunched forward, bracing his elbows on his thighs and sheltering Derek’s head. 

“Why didn’t she include your name?”

Boyd barely glanced up from his computer. “My name where?”

“With Danny and Foster’s. With the techs that are staying behind.” 

“Maybe we should leave,” Kira whispered. 

“If you want to walk past them, be my guest,” Jordan muttered, hunching his shoulders. 

“Oh. That.” Boyd looked up at Erica. “That’s because I’m not staying behind.”

Stiles tensed; Isaac slid from his chair to huddle by Derek.

“Why not?”

“Because they’ve got enough techs staying behind.” His voice sounded reasonable and calm, unruffled even as Erica rose up like a cobra preparing to strike. 

“You are _non-combative._ You don’t fight. You don’t shoot. What the _fuck_ do you think you’re going to do out there? Aside from throw yourself into harm’s way for no reason?”

Danny said, bravely, “Um, Erica,” but she snarled viciously and he stopped. 

Boyd’s eyes narrowed. “Is that what you think?”

“ _Yes_! I think you’re going to get hurt, or killed, or get in the way, because _you_ don’t want to get left out when the rest of us go!” Her eyes blazed with either fury or triumph, Stiles couldn’t tell.

Boyd stood up slowly and stared her in the face, his expression impassive and unreadable. “When you can talk about this with me like an adult, come find me. Danny, I’ll be right back.” He nodded at the rest of the group and walked away, leaving Erica standing next to his desk, trembling with rage. 

Stiles met Derek’s eye and grimaced. 

Danny seemed to have more courage than the rest of them. “He’s going because we need a tech to operate on the outside and get in contact with the bunker.” He swallowed and swiveled back to his desk.

Erica still looked angry, but she also looked scared. 

Stiles knew how she felt. 

Derek squeezed Stiles’s calf. “We should start packing.” 

Stiles nodded. “I’ll meet you in an hour or so, okay? I’m gonna find my dad and pack.”

“Sure.”

Stiles slipped away from the labs and the rest of the bunker with relative ease. Everyone was so worried about packing or deciding whether to stay or go that no one paid him any attention. The hall with Allison’s cell was empty, her guard having slipped away to pack, too. 

She was staring through the bars on her door, apparently waiting for someone. She smiled grimly when she saw him. “So?”

He stared at her.

She sighed. “Do they need us yet?”

He felt his shoulders stiffen. She had said, hadn’t she, that they would keep her locked up until they needed her. “We’re all leaving to fight. I don’t know if Talia plans to leave you guys behind or not.” 

She looked irritated. “I can help fight.”

“She might not want your help.”

“She needs it anyway.” 

Stiles didn’t know what to say to that. “I can’t let you out.”

“You won’t have to.” She looked away for a second. “Is it true that Chris is here?”

“Your father? Yeah, he’s here.”

“Huh. Alright.” A grin flashed over her face. “Better get packing. You don’t want to fall behind.” 

Stiles frowned at her. “You really believe she’ll let you out?”

“Yes.”

He nodded and backed away. “See you on the battlefield then,” he murmured, and left. 

The bunker was in chaos at first glance. Upon closer inspection, it was organized chaos, at least; people were either rushing to their quarters, the cafeteria for gear, or to the garage, scrambling to pack up what was essential and to find out their team’s vehicle. 

John was at home, packing up his own gear. 

It gave Stiles a jolt to see him make sure his Kevlar still fit, but he pretended it didn’t. “Little tight?” he asked, just to tease him. 

“Still fits.” He checked his various holsters and weapons. “Helps that my day job is basically exercising. You packed?”

Stiles grimaced. “Not yet.”

That gave him a pause. “Are you going to?”

“Yeah, I’m coming.”

He nodded, looking resigned. “I figured you were. Your m—Claudia is getting new gear right now, since she lost hers. I’m heading to the infirmary after I’m done. Meet you there?”

“Alright.”

He hooked his hand around the back of Stiles’s neck and towed him in close, pressing a kiss to his forehead like he was a little kid. “See you soon.” 

“Yes.” Stiles went to his room. He packed like he would for a mission; he put on his black cargos and shirt first, then his belt. Everything else went into his duffle for the drive. Knives, sheaths, holsters, guns. Spare ammunition, his vest, extra socks. He pulled his boots on next. Scott had cleaned them for him, but there was still blood dried in the crevices. It probably wasn’t going to come out any time soon. 

He stared around his room. There wasn’t much point in bringing anything else. Deodorant, maybe, a change of clothes, but he couldn’t imagine that the enemy was going to give them much time to change or wash up. He would already be wearing a black hoodie and a cap, since it was cold out. 

Stiles met John at the infirmary. He was talking to Scott and Cora, who were packed and mostly healed. Scott looked a little pale still, and Stiles was worried. What if his brain was still injured? Stiles went to his side, touching his elbow lightly. “Hey, you okay?”

He nodded. “Yeah, I just—I-” He looked around, still pale and going a little wide-eyed. “I’ll tell you later,” he mumbled. 

“Sure.” Stiles patted his arm, concern making his mouth feel tight. He was going to look like he was fifty before he hit thirty at this rate. 

John was carefully checking over everyone’s bags in a nervous flurry that reminded Stiles of Laura. 

Claudia came in while he was checking Kira’s bag. She had a duffle over her shoulders, dressed head-to-toe in unrelieved black, like the rest of them. She wore it well, managing to look efficient and dangerous at once. Her hair was braided back neatly.

“I’ll be right back,” Stiles mumbled. “I said I’d meet up with Derek.” 

“We aren’t leaving yet anyway. Try to be back in a couple hours, though. It’ll be easier if we’re all together,” Scott said.

“Sure.” He left his bag next to Scott’s and clapped him on the shoulder before he left. He passed Jordan on his way out, nodding awkwardly before slipping by.

Derek was at Talia and Ian’s place when Stiles got there, staring at his bag. 

“Derek?”

He turned sluggishly. His face looked blank, sweat glistening at his temples. He gestured at his bag. “My vest. Belt. I forgot I had it with me when…” 

Stiles nodded slowly. “Right.” He stepped into Derek’s room, which basically looked the same as it had when he’d been a teenager, neat and sparse. “We can get you new gear. And you have spares of everything else, right?”

He nodded, still standing against the edge of the bed staring into his bag. 

Stiles crossed the room to look in, too. Basically empty, save for gear he’d left behind on that mission to Montana. He bent and pulled Derek’s spare boots out from under his bed. “Put these on. I’ll be right back. I want you to pack socks and whatever else you need, okay?”

He nodded again, but didn’t move until Stiles squeezed his arm. He reached for the boots. 

Stiles took that as his cue and left at a jog. He only made it as far as the hallway before he ran into Erica, whose arms were full. 

“Hey,” she huffed. “I grabbed Derek a kit, since I didn’t see him in line when I was getting my new stuff.” 

Stiles could’ve kissed her. “You’re amazing.”

“Yes. Now does he need this stuff or not?”

“He does. I was about to go get it for him, but this way I don’t have to leave him alone very long.”

“Why?” she asked sharply, clutching the two kits closer. “What’s wrong?”

“He’s just—anxious. Like all of us. That’s all.” 

She narrowed her eyes. “Alright. Here. Where’s everyone else?” She held out the bigger of the two kits. 

“Congregating in the infirmary. We’ll meet you guys there soon.”

Stiles fingered the vest wrapped around the rest of the gear and wished Derek would stay here, safe. But he wasn’t willing to, so why would Derek? He sighed and took the kit back to Talia and Ian’s place. 

Derek’s bag was a little fuller when Stiles got there, and he was sitting on the bed, boots laced up over his black cargos. 

Stiles set the kit on the bed and unclipped the vest, letting the rest of the gear roll out onto the bed. A new belt, knives, a Taser, a handgun, and various other tools, everything he’d need and had lost when he was captured. 

“Thank you,” Derek said quietly. 

“Erica got it for you.” Stiles quickly packed the bag, stopping only when Derek caught his wrist. He glanced at him expectantly, prompting, “Yeah?” when he didn’t say anything. 

“I just…” He tugged gently until Stiles moved over in front of him. His thumb rubbed over the inside of his wrist. “I just don’t want to lose anyone,” he breathed. 

“Me neither.” Stiles moved forward, putting his hands on Derek’s shoulders. “We’re all going together. We can protect-” His voice broke and he bit his lip. “We can-can make sure no one gets left behind again.” He dropped his forehead on Derek’s, trying to swallow back tears. “I’m sorry for leaving you behind,” he whispered. 

Derek surged up, his mouth hard against Stiles’s. His hands clamped on his shoulders, yanking him to his toes. 

Stiles kissed him back, deliberately gentle, stroking the back of his neck, down his arm, the side of his face, until his mouth softened and his hold on Stiles’s arms slackened to a caress. 

“You didn’t leave us,” he said, kissing along Stiles’s cheek and neck. “You never have.” He fumbled with Stiles’s belt, still pressing reverent kisses to his mouth and throat. When he managed to get his pants open, he slid down to his knees, pressing a kiss to Stiles’s exposed skin, and ran his nose along his lower belly. 

“Derek,” he breathed. “Are you-”

He looked up, eyes flashing gold. “I want to taste you, if you-” he stopped, then, hands going still on Stiles’s hips. “If you want.” He looked unsure, like he was afraid Stiles had somehow, impossibly, stopped wanting him. 

“I just want to know you’re okay.”

“I am.” He rubbed his cheek against his thigh. “We might—might all die. And I just want-” he cut himself off. 

“I know.” Of course he knew. He did the same thing before missions. He just wanted to have something sweet and fun and loving before the violence, wanted something to hold onto when it felt like the only thing he was capable of was destruction.

Derek nodded and tugged his pants down, skimming his fingertips gently over the freshly exposed skin. He nudged Stiles back until he was leaning against the wall, which was a good idea. 

Stiles ran his fingers through Derek’s hair, sweeping his thumb over his forehead. “I love you,” he said, tugging his head back so he could say it before—well, before. 

“I love you, too. I’m going to bite you if you don’t let me put my mouth on your dick.”

Stiles snorted. “Alright, have at— _ah_ ,” he breathed when Derek leaned forward and ran his tongue over him. He dropped his head back and made an effort to hold still, though he was holding onto Derek’s hair like an anchor. 

Derek nipped his thigh, making him jump, and put his hands and mouth on him. 

He didn’t last long, but he didn’t care, just slid bonelessly to the floor to help Derek unbuckle his own pants. “Your turn?” he panted, rubbing his hands against Derek’s thighs and licking his lips.

Derek hummed and yanked Stiles forward by his shirt, kissing him fiercely and reaching for himself. He made a low, guttural noise in the back of his throat that made a hard shiver run all the way down Stiles’s spine. 

In the end, Stiles had to borrow a black shirt from Derek, as his own had become compromised. They leaned shoulder to shoulder on the bed for a moment after he changed, breathing the same air, shivering in tandem. Stiles leaned forward and pressed their cheeks together, the scars on their faces sliding strangely against each other. 

Derek put his arms around his waist, pulling him closer. “We should probably get going.”

“Probably.” 

“We have to meet the new team lead.” 

“Yes.”

They got moving a couple minutes later, zipping Derek’s bag and walking out holding hands.

Erica was outside of the infirmary with Boyd, her expression uncharacteristically earnest. When she spotted them, her brows pinched. “Cutting it close, huh, guys—wow,” she huffed. “Was now the time? _Really_?”

“Might be the only time left,” Derek said impassively, though Stiles could tell her comment had hurt him.

She nodded. “You’re right, sorry.” She smiled wanly. “Maybe I should go in there and ask Laura when she’s gonna get out of bed next, huh?”

Derek shrugged. 

“We’re going in, so you guys can finish talking,” Stiles said, putting his hand on Derek’s lower back to lead him into the infirmary. 

Ian was talking to John and Claudia, who each had an arm around the other’s waist. Ian spotted them first and waved them over. 

“Hi, boys. I’ve just told the rest of your team—well, first of all, that John and Claudia will count as part of your team, for the time being. And Laura and I have made Scott your team lead.”

Stiles stared at him. Then at Derek, whose expression was that of blank shock. Then back at Ian. “So…Scott?”

“Yes. Laura believes he’s shown the responsibility and capability to give orders needed to lead the team efficiently.” 

Stiles blinked. “Right. Okay. Good.” He nodded as he warmed to the idea. Better Scott than someone he didn’t know that well, anyway. 

Derek still looked faintly caught off-guard, but he nodded when Stiles did. “When are we leaving?”

“Talia wants us to leave last, so we have time. Just be ready.” Ian grimaced. “Peter is insisting on joining us, so she’s not happy.” He ran his hand down his face. “I can’t say I am, either. Peter’s never been combative. He’s trained, Elena insisted on all three of them being trained, but I just can’t…” He sighed and ran his hands up his face and through his hair. He glanced over his shoulder almost guiltily. 

“Melissa and Dr. Deaton are packing, too,” Claudia said stoically. “They said we’ll need medics, and they’re right.”

Stiles grimaced. He hadn’t counted on even Melissa being out there, too, but he couldn’t expect her to stay behind. 

 

Stiles was walking with the team toward the garage when they heard loud arguing down one of the halls.

Ian frowned and ran toward the noise, which was coming from the hallway where Chris Argent was being held.

They followed him.

Talia and Chris were shouting in each other’s faces, voices echoing off the cement walls so that no one could understand what they were yelling about. Talia’s eyes flashed red in warning as Chris kept yelling at her.

Ian stepped between them, nudging them both back a couple steps so he could stand between them; for a moment, it looked like Chris wasn’t going to back down, but Ian kept pressing his shoulder into his chest until he was forced to either step back or continue shouting while straining to see over Ian’s shoulder, which would be a considerable feat, considering he was half a foot taller than him. “Shut-up, both of you!” he snapped, twisting to face Talia.

She bared her teeth at him, but he didn’t react. 

“What the hell is going on? You realize we are about to go to _war_ , right? Whatever you’re arguing about, we _literally_ do not have time for it!” 

“I was explaining to Mr. Argent why we can’t risk taking him with us,” Talia said through her teeth. “As it’s _his_ family that we’re going to war _with_.”

“And I was explaining to Alpha Hale that leaving us here is not only as bad as executing us, but _stupid_. You need as much help as you can get, and turning away willing fighters is a luxury you can’t afford.” 

“And how will it help us when you join the enemy’s ranks?” she snarled.

“I’m not going to do that,” Chris replied, remarkably calm. 

Talia’s lip curled back in a sneer. “And we should just trust your word.”

“What choice do you have?”

“I can leave you here, in your cell.”

“They will kill me the minute the door closes behind you. If you want me dead, do it yourself. Or would you rather someone else do your dirty work?”

Talia started growling, a low rising rumble like thunder that had most of Stiles’s team ducking their heads.

“Enough!” Ian ordered. “Talia, we can’t leave him here. He’s right. There are plenty of people who would kill him. I suggest we take him and Allison; that way we can keep an eye on them. The minute we even suspect either of them, we shoot them both.”

Chris’s face paled, but he said, “That sounds secure.”

“Good. Talia?”

She snapped, “Fine.”

“That’s settled. You’ll get your gear upon our arrival at our destination,” Ian told Chris. “Come on. We’ll get Ally…son now, too.”

A light sparked in Chris’s eyes, something like excitement or hope. 

The whole team accompanied them to Allison’s cell. They stood back as Ian explained the details of the plan to her. When she agreed to the terms, Ian let her out.

The first person she saw after Ian was her father. She stopped dead, staring at him.

Stiles wasn’t sure what he was expecting. For her to hug him, maybe, or even say hello. Ask him how he’d been or when he’d come looking for her. But when Chris half-lifted his arms as if for that hug, she punched him square in the nose, knocking him back a few steps. Blood spurted from his nostrils, and she looked like she might hit him again, but Ian leaped between them.

“No, don’t do that.”

“He-he-” She looked too furious to get the words out, but she let Ian herd her away, dropping her fists. “Why’d you come after me?” She hurled the words like projectiles. “You don’t care about this cause, or these people.” 

“I care about you,” Chris said thickly, staunching the blood from his nose with his sleeve.

“That was the problem! Even if you’re not being a psychotic bigot like the rest of them, you don’t _care_ about the people they’re hurting! You don’t care about anyone but yourself. You were upset that I left, so you came to find me because _you_ were upset, not because you saw why I had left. You’re only helping people because I ran away. If you hadn’t thought I’d come to the Pack for sanctuary, would you ever have helped them?”

When he didn’t answer, she sneered at him.

“Are you done? We need to go,” Ian said, looking resigned. 

She nodded. “I apologize for the disruption,” she said stiffly. 

Ian kept the two away from each other, either from fear of more violence/family drama, or because he was worried they may plan something. 

Isaac glanced back at Allison a couple times as they walked. 

Stiles fell back to walk beside him. “Wanna talk to her?”

He shook his head vigorously.

“No one would blame you if you did. She never did anything, you know. She was locked up as a precaution. Like I was.” Stiles looked back at her; she was glaring holes in the back of Chris’s head. “She seemed sincere when she was yelling at Chris,” he added quietly. “Did you hear her lie?”

“No,” Isaac mumbled. “But I’m still learning how to tell the difference between lying and nerves. Her heart was pounding.” 

Stiles nodded. “Okay. Did she smell weird?”

“Like rage.”

“You should talk to her.”

He shook his head again, so Stiles backed off. 

“Alright. Come up here and walk with Derek and me.” He nudged him forward. 

Their group was squashed into one of the last vans. Marisol was driving, and Jordan was up front with her. Peter swung in at the last second, escaping from Tia’s stranglehold with a little grimace. 

Talia stopped to speak to her. “Keep them safe,” she said with a little quiver in her voice.

Tia wiped her face. “Keep _yourself_ safe.” She looked at Cora and Derek and smiled shakily. “I wish-”

“One of us has to stay to run things. I can’t. I’m the Alpha.”

“You’re my little sister. And brother,” she added to Peter, who looked horrified to be referred to as such. “I should—maybe Bree can run-”

“You aren’t leaving Bree behind any more than I’d leave Ian,” Talia said sternly. “Look out for Laura for me, okay?”

Tia nodded. “But I’m not sure how long we’ll be able to stop her from following you all.”

“I know.” Talia hugged her hard, then climbed into the van, sitting between Ian and Chris with a smug smirk. 

Tia closed the van doors with wet, shiny eyes, probably hoping they wouldn’t see her cry. 

Stiles hadn’t seen any of the older generation of Hale siblings acting affectionate in his lifetime, but he supposed they must’ve been at some point. Just like Laura, Derek, and Cora were now.

Peter was checking his bag when he said, “She could’ve come with.” He tried to sound disinterested, but his shoulders were tense. 

“Someone had to stay behind. She was never much of a fighter, and you weren’t going to stay, were you?” Talia’s face was stern. 

Peter looked up slowly. “I suppose not.” He looked upset, though, in only the smallest of ways, which meant he was too upset to hide all traces of it.

Stiles turned his face against Derek’s shoulder as the van started moving. It was going to be a cramped ride, and he didn’t want to watch as they left the bunker, maybe for the last time. Whether they won or died, they probably weren’t coming back, and Stiles couldn’t bear to watch.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 Thank you for your comments. They make me want to post faster ^^ I hope you enjoy!

_“You have to be careful in this area. We need his heart to keep beating. You’re going to begin cutting up from the belly button. Go up to the collarbone,_ ” Boyd instructed, his voice as clinical and detached as a recording. “ _Get the finochietto retractor—the thing that looks like a giant wrench. We need to break open his ribcage._ ” 

Stiles fought and clawed his way out of the nightmare, shuddering into consciousness in his father’s arms, face pressed against his neck. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he gasped, twisting his fists in the back of John’s shirt. Holding on, holding himself in the real world, in the present. 

John swept his hands up and down Stiles’s back, keeping him close as if to shield him from the stares of the rest of the passengers. 

Another hand settled warm between his shoulders; he assumed from the temperature and the way the pain in his cramping lungs drained away that it was Derek. 

He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw until the urge to be sick went away. He sighed and rested against John for a moment longer. He cleared his throat. “Sorry,” he rasped, sitting back. 

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault. Just stress.” John squeezed his shoulders once more before letting him go. 

He knuckled his eyes like a child, clearing the tears clinging to his lashes and saw, with some surprise, that Derek was sitting across from him, asleep slumped against Cora’s side. He turned, slowly, and found Claudia with her hand on his back. 

“You were in pain,” she said simply, lifting her hand away. 

“…Thanks.” 

She nodded and leaned back in her seat. 

Talia and Ian were talking on Claudia’s other side, ignoring Chris between them, and Boyd was speaking to Erica near Cora, which was probably what Stiles had heard in his sleep. 

“How close are we?” he asked to distract himself.

“Close enough,” John muttered. “It’s taking so long because we’re basically a convoy.” 

“And traffic, right?”

“No.”

“What?”

“There haven’t been any vehicles on the road except us,” John said tersely. “We saw something moving off road about twelve miles back, but nothing else.” 

Stiles wiped at his cheek. “What, um. What do you think that means?” But he knew. Didn’t he?

“We think the OWH has recruited all they can, and everyone else has gotten out of their way,” Talia said. “Whatever we find in the city, we need to clear it out. We’re going to keep California at our backs, so we need it to be safe. With Satomi coming from the north and Yolanda from the south, we should be able to clear out any opposition.”

Stiles nodded, bouncing his legs. He wasn’t sure what they would find—a giant prison camp? A mass grave? A trap, with hunters waiting for the brunt of the Pack to show up so they could ambush and kill most of them in one fell swoop? What else could have emptied the highways so completely on the road to San Francisco at around five on a Tuesday?

Beside him, Claudia tapped out an anxious rhythm on her thigh, gaze bouncing around the cramped van like she was seeing outside and searching for threats. 

John shook his head, a sad little smile on his face, and leaned back, closing his eyes. 

Peter had moved toward the front, crouched between the driver and passenger seats so he could watch the road, too. It’d probably been years since he’d left the bunker. 

“ETA in a half hour,” Marisol called back. “Also, can someone pass me up one of those awful energy shots?”

“I can drive for the last bit, if you want,” Jordan offered. 

She shook her head. “No. We can’t pull over.”

Everyone awake in the van went tense. “Why?” Ian asked, putting a hand on Chris’s knee, then, seeming to realize it wasn’t Talia next to him, jerking his hand back. 

Marisol sucked on her teeth. “Well, I don’t want to alarm anyone, but that ATV we spotted earlier has been keeping pace with us for miles. Not sure if it’s friendly or tracking us.” 

“Passenger or driver side?” Talia demanded.

“Driver.” 

She swore. “Alright. Jordan, see if you can get your comm working. Tell Danny to patch you through to Heather, or anyone on the bus.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Stiles caught Scott’s eye and grimaced. It was too cramped in the van for them to panic. It was almost too cramped in the van to _breathe._ Stiles could only figure the warmth and proximity of people he trusted were the only reasons he was able to fall asleep. 

The van was bigger than the ones they normally took for missions, but it still wasn’t big enough for eighteen adults, even with two of them up front, and four on the floor with the gear. 

Stiles tried to stop bouncing his legs, realizing he might kick someone. 

Scott rolled his eyes and braced his back against Stiles’s knees, making him smile a little. 

“I’ve got Heather, Alpha Hale,” Jordan reported. 

“Tell her to find someone on the bus to use a window on the left side. We need to identify the person following us.”

Jordan relayed the message. 

They went over a pothole, jostling the van enough to wake Cora and Derek. They shared a blank look of surprise, then seemed to get their bearings. They yawned and stretched as much as they could. Derek seemed startled to find himself beside Cora, which had Stiles wondering who had moved him; he’d fallen asleep with his head on Derek’s shoulder, he was sure. 

Outside, over the rumbling of the vehicles, was a muffled shot and thump of a bullet striking hard-packed dirt. 

Jordan mumbled, “fuck,” and looked disgusted. “I said your sniper is shit, ma’am,” he replied to whatever Heather had said. He cleared his throat. “The bus said the ATV has no weapons, but it does have a flag. Looks like they’re trying to get our attention.” 

“By doing what?” Talia snapped. 

Jordan glanced toward Marisol, then did a double-take. “Uh, waving it.” He nodded at the window.

Talia leaped up so quickly she knocked Chris right to the floor and kneed Peter in the head. She ignored their noisy protests to look around Marisol’s shoulder, peering out the window. “What…”

Ian helped Chris back up onto the bench so that Talia didn’t step on him again. 

“I think they want to talk,” Marisol said. “He’s signing. See? Those are the signs for friend…talk…safe.” 

Stiles wished he _could_ see. Sitting back here, basically blind, was unnerving. He dug his fingers into his legs. 

Talia’s jaw worked, her spine stiff as she tried to make a decision based on such limited information. Finally, she bit out, “Pass along the message that we’re stopping. Tell them to stay in their vehicles. I’ll speak to the driver alone.” 

The van erupted in protests, everyone trying to express how stupid that was at once. Stiles thought it was nice that they could all agree on something. Unfortunately, it was calling their leader a dumbass. 

Talia snarled. “Stiles, then. You’ll come with as back up. Put your vest and weapons on.” When everyone stared at her, she snapped, “ _Now_.” 

Stiles jumped, knocking Scott forward on accident. He grabbed his gear quickly, putting it on with mostly muscle memory, as his mind raced to figure out why Talia requested him. Cora, Kira, Jordan or Scott would be better, or even John or Claudia, though they hadn’t been on the field in years. 

Talia put her own vest on, snapping her weapon-laden belt in place with sharp, economical movements. 

Stiles checked his gun and climbed out first, trying not to step on Melissa or Allison.

Talia pushed in front of him, marching to the person driving the ATV. 

Stiles finally saw the flag: a black piece of cloth waving on the end of a silver pole, painted with a large, neatly stenciled red _P_. 

The person climbed off the ATV, still holding the flag, and yanked off their helmet. A man in his early thirties nodded at them. “Are you an Alpha?” he asked briskly.

“Who are you?” Talia growled.

“Lieutenant Jack Compton, ma’am.”

Talia’s brows lifted. “Lieutenant?”

“Yes, ma’am. Are you an Alpha? For the Pack,” he clarified, giving the flag a little shake. 

“Yes. I’m Alpha Talia Hale.” Her voice was fierce and bold, claiming her name and title like a crown rather than a possible death sentence. 

Jack nodded. “I recognize you from the videos.” He glanced at Stiles, then back at Talia. “Both of you. We’ve set up base in a town outside of the city.”

“Who is _we_?”

He looked confused. “Everyone willing to fight. That’s what you asked for. The Pack wanted fighters. We’ve been getting ready for you.” 

Talia looked deeply suspicious. “Who organized this?”

“General Sawyer, among others, ma’am. We’ve been wanting to fight, but alone, there aren’t enough of us. We were told to wait for the Pack, since together, our numbers are higher and we’ve got a chance.” 

Stiles was uncomfortable. The guy kept casting him quick, unreadable looks. They were making him nervous. 

“Why?” Talia asked.

“Why?” he echoed, looking confused again. 

“Why are you joining us? You’re human.”

“So is he.” He pointed at Stiles. “Most of us are military or similar, ma’am, and we fought to secure freedom, especially at home, not for a geriatric psychopath to imprison people for not being like him. Ma’am.” 

Talia’s head tipped just so. “Alright. Lead us to your base then…Lieutenant.” 

He nodded and quickly rolled up the flag, before heading back to his ATV. 

Stiles looked at Talia. “You trust him.”

“No, but I don’t think he was lying.” She watched him for a moment. 

“Why’d you bring me out?” he asked, figuring he’d might as well.

“The same reason he kept looking at you.” She grimaced. “You’re unfortunately recognizable, due to the videos and accusations against you, made public by Kate and Victoria Argent.”

Stiles swallowed. “Accusations?”

“We didn’t tell you because they only had a grainy picture of you to use for identification. We thought it would upset you. One second.” She strode to the van, speaking quickly to Marisol.

Stiles lifted his hand to his cheek, masking the scar. He was identifiable because of it, had been accused publically of things he had done and maybe things he hadn’t. It felt weird, knowing someone he’d never met could recognize him so easily. He’d been exposed by Kate-fucking-Argent. He dug his nails into his cheek. He should’ve taken the shot at her when he had the chance. 

“We’re going to follow him.” Talia touched his hand, still on his face. “Everyone knows you’re ready to fight on our side.” 

“Like an attack dog?”

She bared her teeth in a fierce, fanged smile. “There are worse things to be.” 

 

The convoy—which was several very full vans, SUVs, and two buses full of Pack and rescues who’d decided to fight—followed Jack to a town called El Cerrito. The road was blocked off by two overturned semi-trucks that formed a sort of wall. They’d modified them somehow, creating a gate that opened up to let them in when Jack waved his flag. 

Talia had moved into the SUV at the front, so she went in first, eyes narrowed suspiciously as she gazed around. She didn’t seem surprised so much as resigned when Stiles, Derek, Ian, and Cora got out of the van and stood at her back. 

“Go get General Sawyer,” Jack barked. 

Beside Stiles, Derek was tense as a bow string, ready to leap forward at the slightest hint of foul play. Stiles couldn’t blame him. He had each hand on a knife and a gun himself. 

“Alpha Hale,” Marisol whispered. “Your team is restless in here.” 

“They can get out. But I want Jordan on the roof of the van, and have him tell the rest of them to remain in their vehicles.” 

They filed out while Jordan passed on the message, stretching their legs and getting their gear on.

John and Claudia stopped on either side of Stiles and Derek; Stiles wasn’t surprised when Claudia reached out to squeeze Derek’s arm reassuringly. She had an easier time reaching out to Derek than Stiles, and he was surprised by how okay he was with that. 

Stiles bumped his shoulder lightly against John’s, comforted when he bumped him back. 

The houses around them had boarded up windows, no cars in the driveways but rather large, tough vehicles perched in the postage stamp yards. 

A trio made their way up the street, marching at a quick clip. One of them was the man who’d been guarding the makeshift gate, leading two women up the street. One of the two had her dark hair tied back severely, wearing tough clothes and black boots. 

The other had wild caramel colored ringlets down to her wrists, blowing around her face. 

Stiles could picture her manic-bright eyes from here, flicking between red and gray indiscriminately. 

Talia’s shoulders stiffened. “Is that…”

Brielle’s hair lifted as she ran, waving like a tangled flag behind her. She came to a dead stop about two inches from Talia’s face. “Hello.”

Talia didn’t back up. “Alpha Banner.”

Her answering smile looked painful. “Just Brielle. We’ve been waiting.”

“For—?” 

Brielle’s laugh rang like an alarm through the empty streets. “You. The Pack. I’ve gathered as many as I could.” She was like a child proudly flashing a test marked with an A.

“As many what?”

“Fighters.” 

Before Talia could ask anymore, the other woman reached them. 

“Alpha Hale. I’m General Molly Sawyer.” She held her hand out for a shake.

Talia accepted it. “I’d like an explanation, General.” 

She nodded. “We saw your videos. We’d already been doing what we could to resist the OWH, but we were unorganized and scattered. Brielle gathered us up, suggested we group with likeminded individuals and prepare for the war. We’ve done that.” She took a breath. “We’ve secured this area, gathered supplies, and are ready to mobilize. We’ve assured Alph—Brielle that we’ve sworn our allegiance to the Pack.” General Sawyer’s gaze traveled over their convoy and the team spread out behind Talia.

“The other factions of the Pack are on their way,” she said as if she could read the dismay in her eyes. “One is planning to meet our adversary head on while the other meets us here so we can join them and head east.”

General Sawyer nodded. “Alright then. Do you want to work together, Alpha Hale?”

She observed her, then Brielle, who was grinning crookedly at her. “And if I say I don’t?”

“Then we’ll fight them anyway. This way, we’re stronger together.” 

Talia sighed. “Fine. We’ll work with you.”

 

It was weirdly simple after that. The Pack convoy pulled into the town and the gate closed behind them. General Sawyer’s militia consisted of about six hundred humans, some of them military and law enforcement, some civilians, and all of them came to gawk at the Pack. 

They’d commandeered the homes in El Cerrito. Stiles was afraid to ask what that meant, as most of the people admitted they didn’t live in the house they were using for shelter. 

Plenty of the rescues wanted to sleep outside; no one tried to stop or discourage them, so Stiles decided to join them. 

The militia had dragged a bunch of small fire pits into one area in the middle of the main street and made a fire as it got later and colder; everyone either turned in or gathered around to get a look at the newcomers. 

“We’ve been running things as well as we can,” General Sawyer explained. 

Once she and Talia began talking, Brielle had drifted away, apparently done being responsible now that another alpha had shown up. She followed Stiles around for a while, not saying anything but apparently amused when Derek started getting clingy and annoyed without realizing why. 

“Don’t you want to stay in a house?” he asked. He had an arm around Stiles’s waist from behind like he thought they might get separated. 

“No. We have stuff to camp outside. Let’s…not use a house.” Stiles twisted his fingers together. “Feels weird.”

Brielle, still close behind them, laughed. “Most of the people left their homes long before we got here. They were either running to or running from the hunters, but they weren’t helping us.” She smiled her off-kilter smile and wandered away. 

Stiles frowned after her. “She’s still weird. I’m grateful to her, and sorry for her and everything, but…still weird.” 

Derek nodded. “Was she…there? When you found us?” He was frowning, too.

“Yeah. She helped me get you guys out.” Stiles moved his shoulders uncomfortably. “She gave me vampire blood before we went in. So that I would heal if I got shot.” He felt Derek staring at him. “I did.”

“You got shot?”

“I healed _from_ the shot. There isn’t even a scar.” He tugged Derek’s hand up and slid it under the collar of his shirt, down to his bicep so he could feel the smooth skin. Stiles still remembered how it felt when the bullet pierced the flesh, but there was no scar to mark the wound. 

Cora spotted them and zipped to their side like she was drawn by a magnet. “Come over here. Mom wants us to stick close together with our teams.” She looked like she agreed wholeheartedly with that notion. 

They followed her to the fire pits, where a mix of militia and Pack were sitting in a wide circle, chatting. Team building. They had to care about the people they were fighting with. Stiles hated this part, but he sat when Cora pushed on his shoulders. Derek was so close he was practically in his lap, which was fine with him.

“Hey, you guys were in those videos!” a man said, pointing at Derek, Stiles, and Claudia. “We remember you, right guys?” He elbowed some of the men next to him. “We thought it was pretty cool how the human guy did a face thing to match you all!” 

Stiles looked at Erica to his left, puzzled. “What?”

The guy gestured at his own face. “You know. The **P** you put on your face—to match what the hunters did to brand the supes.”

“Ricky, you moron,” one of the older men muttered. “That’s a scar, and I don’t think it was voluntary.” 

Ricky sat gaping for a moment in frozen horror. “It’s a scar?” he asked in a small voice. 

“Yes,” Scott replied sharply. “Someone tried to write Pack on his face.” His voice was loud and ringing, sending most of the circle into a hush. 

“Did you really chop up that OWH guy?” a woman asked into the silence. 

Stiles flinched, but didn’t answer. That seemed answer enough though, because whispers started up immediately. They sounded excited and afraid. 

Derek actually did climb into his lap then, as if he could hide him from sight that way. 

“Hey, man, I like it,” a young man said, approaching them rather than shouting across the circle. He looked barely eighteen, but his expression was grave and serious. “You don’t have to let it be a brand. It’s your face. It could be a badge.” He had a scar across his jaw, brown like a burn, and Stiles wondered if he was speaking from experience. 

He blinked at him. “I guess.” He touched his own face, tracing the jagged edges. 

“Okay.” He nodded firmly and walked away. 

“That made no sense,” Stiles muttered. “It’s just a scar.” 

Derek turned his face into his neck and hummed. “Symbol,” he murmured.

None of the street lamps came on as night fell; they’d been blown out by the militia, according to Ian, who had been doing what he did best: gathering info while seeming to blend effortlessly with the locals. “They wanted to keep the area dark, just in case.” 

“In case what?” Stiles muttered. They were all walking across yards, trying to pick a place to sleep for the night. Everything felt too exposed. 

“In case we get ambushed,” John said. “They want any advantage they can get, and since most of our people can see in the dark, they’re taking that one.” He tripped over a little rosebush, but Claudia caught him before he could hit the ground. He let her tow him away from the garden he’d wandered into. 

“Right.” Stiles put his hands in his pockets. Every one of the militia seemed to be watching him in turns, waiting for him to freak out and chop them up into little pieces. He was pretty sure it was the first time civilians had been more wary of him than the werewolves and vampires surrounding them. That was good for them, at least. Must’ve been a nice change. 

Derek squeezed his shoulder and pressed close, sensing his distress but unable to dispel it.

“Okay, this looks good,” Ian announced, opening a gate and exposing a fenced in backyard. 

The yard was fairly flat, with a vegetable garden close to the house and no grass or ornaments. 

“You guys set up and get some sleep. I’m going to find Talia.” He shot a hard look at Chris, then nodded at the group and took off. 

Melissa began organizing a watch schedule, ignoring Chris when he offered to help. “Scott, you can take the first watch, Cora after that.” She went on, putting Stiles somewhere fourth or fifth down the line. 

Stiles waved to indicate he’d heard her, then scooped up one of the sleeping bags Cora had dumped in the middle of the yard. “Let’s sleep over here,” he mumbled, heading to a corner. 

Derek didn’t protest; he followed him, and Cora followed them both, then Erica and Boyd. 

Stiles pressed close to Derek when they laid down, hoping he didn’t fall asleep. The only thing that would make this whole situation more uncomfortable would be to wake the whole place up screaming bloody murder.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I didn't post this yesterday. I went to see Black Panther (again) and didn't have time. Anyway, here's 15! Enjoy! <3

Stiles jolted awake to shouting and gunfire, with Derek crouched over him, hand fisted in his shirt. He blinked, confused and then awake in a wash of adrenaline. Derek shoved his gear at him and scrambled for Cora. 

They hadn’t been noticed yet, fenced in as they were, which bought them time to put their gear on. 

“What’s going on?” Cora snapped her belt on, checking her holsters and sheaths. 

“Hunters found us.” Scott gave Jordan a boost onto the roof of the house that was blocking the yard they’d slept in. 

“We’re holding them back, but barely. They’ve got us matched for numbers it looks like,” Jordan reported as he set up his equipment. 

Stiles swung his rifle strap over his shoulders and checked his sidearm for ammo. 

Erica pressed her hands into her eyes, taking deep even breaths. 

Isaac was fully geared up but looked as pale as milk, his eyes glowing gold. 

“Let’s go.”

“Wait,” Chris barked. “We need weapons.” His eyes looked steely. 

Scott swore. “We can’t let them go unprotected,” he said when Erica snorted. “The deal was they’d get gear when the fight starts.” 

John nodded, digging through the pile of supplies by the house. “Ian left extra things for them.” He handed a kit to Kira for Allison, and held one out to Chris. When he took it, John shoved him up against the fence, holding a knife to his throat. “Turn on us, and we’ll kill you,” he said mildly. “I-”

“I’ll cut you into fifteen pieces and leave you alive,” Stiles said, before John could finish. “I know how. I have the tools for it.” 

Chris nodded coolly. “I’m aware. I’m not turning on the Pack,” he added. “Ian Hale made it clear that turning would be a very stupid idea.” He looked at Allison, who was pulling on her gear and ignoring him. 

“Good. Put your gear on.” 

On the roof, Jordan began picking off hunters with his sniper, swearing under his breath. “It’s a mess out here, guys. Hurry up.”

Boyd looked at the gun Erica shoved in his hands the way Stiles looked at babies: a little afraid, mostly confused. 

“Point and squeeze,” Stiles offered. 

Boyd didn’t look like he appreciated that little bit of info, but there wasn’t time for a more in-depth lesson.

Scott opened the gate, and they all rushed out together. Only Jordan stayed behind, watching the battle from above. 

There were so many people, so much noise and smoke, that Stiles lost track of everyone almost immediately. He couldn’t take the time to worry where everyone was. There were too many navy-clad hunters converging on him, around him. His rifle became more of a hindrance than a help in the crowd. He switched to his sidearm; someone grazed his arm, blood sprayed the back of his head, and a scream of rage pierced the air.

Smoke stung his eyes; someone had started a fire in one of the houses, though he couldn’t tell who it was, which side had done it, or why.

A hand snatched his forearm and yanked him out of the path of a bullet; Brielle licked blood off his cheek, laughed raucously, and dove back into the fray. 

He spun and kicked on instinct, a gun clattering to the asphalt out of the hands of a hunter. He lunged forward and shoved his gun under her head, shooting. A big hand grabbed his face and yanked him back.

He slammed his elbow back, then stamped down on a booted foot. He scratched the hand trying to twist his head and grabbed a finger. He wrenched it back until the bone snapped, then twisted the wrist while the hunter choked off a scream above his head. He yanked his arm behind his back and shoved him to the ground. He shot him and leaped back. He bumped into someone and jerked. Before he could turn and shoot, fingers laced with his, sticky and slick with blood. 

Isaac was breathing hard and half-shifted, his fangs dripping blood. “Their throats are uncovered,” he slurred.

“Good.”

He nodded, flexing his hand around Stiles’s; he shoved him, then, before Stiles even heard the shot. It struck another hunter in the back, knocking her forward but not killing her. 

Stiles stumbled; a hunter grabbed his shoulders and slammed his face down on their knee. Stars popped in his vision, but he reared up and twisted, grabbing their arms and lifting, then throwing them to the street. He pinned him with a foot to his throat and shot before he could get up. The taste of blood had his vision sparkling around the edges, heart jerking in his chest with adrenaline. He knew his nose would hurt later, when he calmed down enough to feel it, but for now…he felt like his chain had snapped. 

He passed John fighting, and Ian, and even Boyd, who had forgone his gun and was fighting instinctively, fangs bared and eyes shining unearthly silver. 

Someone grabbed Stiles’s arm and yanked, thrusting a gun under his chin the same way he’d done so many times himself. 

He grabbed the hunter’s wrist and wrenched it back with all of his strength; the shot made him flinch, but he kept squeezing and twisting until the hunter screamed, the bone cracking. 

Something thumped behind him. He shot the screaming hunter and turned. 

Claudia snapped her opponent’s neck and straightened up. “Your nose is broken.”

“Again? Shit.” He reached up and found his nose still gushing. That explained the taste of blood, anyway. 

A smile fluttered over her mouth before she turned to the next hunter running at her.

Stiles grabbed a man running by and yanked him flush against his chest, slicing his throat in a quick flick. He dumped him to the ground and bared his teeth at a woman aiming at him. She was shaking, the gun barely able to aim at his chest. Stiles shot her first and picked up her gun, turning it on one of her comrades. He rolled his neck, fighting the flickering in his eyes; a curtain of red descended over his brain. 

A hunter tried to shoot Scott in the back. Stiles tackled him, getting him in a leg-lock and stabbing him in the thigh. Blood slicked his palms but he twisted around, straddling him until he could get up to his throat and cut.

The ambush must have been small, or they’d retreated when they saw how many they were up against; the battle ceased before Stiles knew what’d happened. He still had his knife buried in a man’s throat when he blinked and realized that the only people still moving were Pack or militia. He yanked his knife free, panting, and let the body fall. He looked around, disoriented, and found himself in a ring of bodies. He licked his lips, tasting blood, and straightened up. He wiped his cheek and stared at his fingers when they came away red.

Ricky, the militia guy from the night before, stood next to him, still gripping his gun like a security blanket. “Dude, you’re a beast,” he said cheerfully. His eyes were glazed and frenzied, like he hadn’t ever been in a fight to the death before. 

“Stiles.” Isaac tugged on his hand. “Your nose needs to be tended.” He had a bleeding cut on his face that wasn’t healing, and his arm was drenched in blood, so if anyone needed to be tended, it was him. 

Stiles let him lead him away; they sat at a picnic table in a yard that had somehow survived the ambush. He sat down and blinked at Isaac. “You need to be patched up, too.”

“I can’t find Cora,” he said. He was shaking so hard his teeth chattered. “Or Kira. They were fighting right behind me and I don’t know where they went.” 

“We’ll find them.” Blood trailed into his mouth. He was sure they would find Cora and Kira, though in what state he wouldn’t dare to guess. 

Isaac was rummaging through a bag next to him, his hands so shaky it looked like he was throwing things around indiscriminately. 

Stiles saw over his shoulder that Scott and John were together, helping a man with a **W** on his cheek out from under a body; his leg was dragging. Probably wolfsbane. 

Erica was with some of the militia, helping Ry move the wounded away from the dead. 

Isaac wiped Stiles’s face; he wasn’t shaking any longer, calm as he performed this familiar task. He tipped Stiles’s head back and carefully put gauze up his nose. “That’s the best I can do here,” he mumbled. “But it doesn’t look too crooked, so you’re probably okay.”

“Now you.”

He nodded, but before he sat, his shoulders went stiff. He whipped around, then let out a sigh. 

Cora and Derek were helping Kira limp toward them. Behind them, Claudia was carrying a woman from the militia while Allison and Chris trailed in her wake. They all looked banged up and bloody, but they were alive and walking. 

Claudia set the injured woman down and turned to Stiles. She looked nervous, her eyes bright with fear. 

Stiles lifted his arms slightly.

She fell forward and hugged him. “I’m glad you’re okay.” She squeezed him, then ran off to help John.

Jordan joined them, offering to help patch people up. “I didn’t see anyone. I don’t know what the point was of sending such a small group.”

“Recon?” Scott suggested as he taped up Isaac’s face. “It’ll heal soon,” he murmured, patting his shoulder. 

“Maybe? But why engage when they could’ve just reported our location?”

Scott shook his head. “Dunno.” He moved on to one of the militia men and started cleaning his wounds. 

Stiles dunked his head in a bucket of icy water and washed the blood off as well as he could.

General Sawyer approached their group less than an hour later. “We’re moving east. We fear this attack means Alpha Ito is stretched too thin to hold the front line. Alpha Hale insists Alpha Santos can move up to Colorado, so we’re heading to Nevada and Idaho, where Ito is supposed to be.”

“General, if they’ve already gotten to us here-”

“It was a comparatively small group, Lieutenant. If we can fight our way east and get to Gerard, we can win.” She looked over them. “Find your group. Alpha Hale wants us moving in two hours.” She walked away.

Stiles pushed to his feet. He clapped Scott on the shoulder to let him know he was leaving.

Talia, Ian, and John were talking to a larger group, relaying the same information General Sawyer had given Stiles and them. 

Ry and Jessa were crouched at the edge of the group, talking to someone with their shoulders pressed together, blocking whoever it was from view as well as they could. 

“Need any help?” Stiles asked, approaching them.

Ry turned sharply. “Um, actually-”

Sara beamed up at him. “Hi, tapper.” 

He frowned. “My name is Stiles. Weren’t you supposed to stay in the bunker?”

“Weren’t you supposed to be in therapy?” She smiled more. She was covered in blood, most of it around her mouth, but plenty more spread down her shirt and arms. “I couldn’t stay there. Adam would’ve been devastated.”

“What about?”

“Me. He’d think it was his fault I’m like this.” She bounced her toes and licked blood from her bottom lip.

Jessa sighed. “Sara, you’re not fit for battle.” 

Sara poked her bottom lip out. “Well,” she said patiently, “neither is he.”

“Don’t get me started,” Jessa muttered. “Someone has to keep an eye on her.”

“Peter,” Stiles suggested. “He’s non-combative.”

Ry snorted. “Didn’t look like he was non-combative an hour ago.” He jerked his chin.

Peter was standing apart from all of the groups, coolly bandaging a wound on his upper arm; he looked disheveled, bloody, and more engaged in the present than Stiles had ever seen him.

“You should let someone clean that up.” Stiles put his hands in his pockets awkwardly. “If it isn’t healing, you’ve probably been poisoned. Scott, Mel, and Deaton have cures.” 

Peter stared at him. “I’ve already checked for poison. It was a silver bullet. It’ll heal soon.” He looked conflicted for a moment. “I saw you fighting.”

Stiles tried not to visibly cringe, touching fingertips to his cheek even though he’d already cleaned his face. “Well-” he began, but Peter shook his head.

“I don’t regret it.” He looked over at where Derek was helping patch people up. “But for what it’s worth, I’m sorry for what it did to you.” He smiled awkwardly, like it was an expression he wasn’t used to making. 

Stiles shrugged. “We both wanted them back.”

“Yes, and I pushed. I know what I’ve done.” He finished with his arm and began checking his gun.

“I thought you were non-combative.” 

“That doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten my training. Mother insisted we were all trained.” He looked at where Ry and Jessa were watching. “I can keep tabs on Sara,” he said. “For now.”

Sara grinned at him.

Stiles looked around. “I’m going to find Erica.”

“She’s in the yard we slept in.” 

Stiles headed that way. 

She was crouched in the yard, claws dug into the dirt as she stared at the far fence. Her face was pale and blood spattered, her gaze empty. Her hair was slipping down from the ponytail she’d tied it back in, still mostly too short to stay up. 

“You okay?”

She didn’t look at him. “There’s a man out there. He has brown and gray hair, with a birthmark under his left eye…” Something moved behind her gaze, a flicker of fear. “He was the one who…” She gestured at her face. “He conducted most of the experiments on me.”

“Did he torture you guys, too?”

“No, that was a woman.”

Stiles nodded. “Is he dead?”

“Yes. Derek broke his neck. Because I froze.”

“That’s understandable.” That seemed normal. Stiles almost wished he’d frozen, even once. He hadn’t hesitated. 

Erica nodded. “Are we leaving soon?”

“Yeah.”

“Go find Derek. He’ll want to see you.” She tried to smile, but gave up after a second.

“He’ll find us. We can just chill here.” He sat down beside her. 

Boyd joined them after a few minutes. He sat on Erica’s other side and waited; it took about twelve seconds for her to crawl into his lap. 

Derek found them like that. He didn't say anything. He just sat with Stiles, and stayed there until they left.

 

The city of Gresham, Nevada, was a smoky, abandoned wreck. Alpha Ito had set up a base camp of sorts in a central building that used to be a large, one floor bank. She looked relieved when she saw Talia and her faction, aided by the militia. 

“We’ve been holding the line, but they’re pushing back as hard as they can. They want to corral us west, then, when we’re cornered, slaughter us.” 

Talia nodded. “What do we do?” The question would’ve sounded meek from anyone else, a sign that their leader needed direction. Talia seemed to be acknowledging Satomi’s superior strategic knowledge. 

“The ideal would be to cut a path east. If we take out the hunting families—the Argents, the Martells, and the Galloises, mainly—we will take out their leadership. Without their leadership, they’ll be easier to defeat.”

Talia nodded. “Alright then, that’s the goal.” She had General Sawyer relay that to their troops, and looked at her team. “Okay,” she said steadily. “Let’s go to war.” 

The battlefield was a charred, flattened expanse of land that had probably once belonged to someone. The smell was overwhelming: blood, smoke, bodies, death. Carrion birds circled overhead, their hopeful cries mixing with the sounds of war. Gunfire. Screams. Boots over hard packed earth. 

Stiles gagged, pressing his wrist against his mouth. The supernaturals around him were reacting, too. Their heightened senses made the smells he was getting seem laughable in comparison. 

Derek pressed his shoulder into Stiles’s. He was shaking. “Ready?” he murmured. 

“Yeah.” Their ballistic helmets wouldn’t protect them from snipers, but, hearing the gunfire, Stiles was happy to have them anyway. The air was cold, but the weight and insulation of his gear had him sweating.

The noise became deafening the closer they got to the utter chaos of battle. The two armies were separated for a moment, a beat of stillness in the midst of the destruction. They were on each other in the next breath.

Stiles only heard his own panting, felt only his gun in his hand. He saw only the enemies in front of him, falling one after another. He aimed and shot, killed and moved to the next. Something hot stung his arm, but he didn’t have time to examine it. Aim, shoot, dead, next. It was easy as breathing to slip back into the violence. His opponents might as well have been training dummies for as much mercy he showed them.

His sidearm ran out of bullets; he shoved it in its holster and yanked his knives out. He sliced and slashed his way through them with his knives. Blood got in his mouth when he cut a woman’s throat. He spat sideways and lunged to his next target. 

A hand grabbed the front of his vest and dragged him to the ground before he could retaliate. An explosion rocked the ground. Stiles kept his eyes wide open, refusing to succumb to the terror that wanted to strangle him. He wasn’t in a building, he was outside, and no one was getting left behind this time. It was all or nothing now. 

“Watch what the fuck you’re doing, Stilinski.”

Stiles shoved Jackson off him. “What the _fuck!_ ” 

Jackson blustered, then snapped, “Fuck you!” and jumped to his feet. 

Howls rent the air, full and throaty. They rose over the gunfire and screams, drowned the noise. Jackson joined in instantly, his face falling into a half shift.

Stiles felt fortified by the sound. All over the battlefield, werewolves were howling in response. We are not dead, we will not be defeated. 

Derek shot a hunter and howled, triumphant. He reached down and pulled Stiles to his feet. He was panting and bloody, eyes bright. Stiles just loved him _so much._ He shoved a loaded gun into Stiles’s hands and dove back into the fray. 

Stiles ran out of bullets again at the same time the person he was running at did, feet from him. He did the only logical thing and leaped. They hit in a jarring tangle at the same time something slammed into Stiles’s back, winding him.

The woman’s hands wrapped around Stiles’s throat, no hesitation, no remorse. She squeezed. Her eyes were ice cold and filled with disgust.

Stiles didn’t bother fumbling to loosen her grip. He swiped his knife across her throat, spraying his face with blood. 

She choked and let go, instinctively grabbing for her neck to stem the blood. 

Stiles jumped to his feet and stole a gun from the body of a dead hunter. No mercy. No hesitation. He barely felt human. He didn’t want to be a monster, but he felt like one. He tucked his fear and anxiety, remorse and terror, away. He tucked it all away and fought with his bloodied teeth bared.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of fun writing this chapter, ngl. Sorry it's late! I was helping [rebekahdarian](http://archiveofourown.org/users/rebekahdarian) perform some maintenance on Some Kind of Monster. :*

Stiles hissed sharply, then grimaced when Scott snapped at him to stop squirming. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Hurts.”

“Wouldn’t hurt so bad if you hadn’t gone all berserker and noticed it was there.” Scott snipped the end of the thread sharply. 

Stiles winced. “Jackson could’ve told me. He was literally on top of me.” 

Scott snorted. 

Stiles’s whole body ached; he felt like he’d gone a round or two in a blender. He wanted to blame most of it on Jackson’s surprise tackle, but even he knew that he’d been shielding him from the explosion. 

He, Scott, Kira, Derek, and some others were in a large group to bunk down for the night. They’d used the cover of a small wooded area to sleep in, not that any of them had relaxed enough to sleep yet. So far, they were mostly tending to the wounded and Stiles was getting lectured. It was a good time all around. 

“Your vest got damaged, too,” Scott sighed. He held it up so Stiles could see where the bullet had struck him in the back earlier. 

He scowled. “Yeah, I felt _that_.” 

“How you managed to get shot, I’ll never know. Most of us only got grazed. And they’re trying to _literally_ exterminate us.” 

Stiles glowered at him.

He shoved a water bottle practically up his nose. “Drink your water.”

He snatched the bottle and leaned back against Derek’s chest. He was bone tired, but his brain was going 240 and showing no signs of slowing down. 

Derek pressed a kiss to the back of his neck, running his nose along his hair line. Apparently sweat didn’t offend his delicate senses. “Hurt?” he asked, skimming his hand down Stiles’s back.

“Yeah, a little bit. It came from far away, so the bruises probably aren’t too bad.” He sighed when he felt Derek drawing the pain away, his little aches and twinges slipping off like weights being lifted. “Thanks.” 

Scott had moved over to another human, who, Stiles noticed, did not get lectured like Stiles did. 

Derek leaned forward, letting his forehead rest against his shoulder. They were on the ground, curling around each other closer every second, like if they just held on a little tighter, everything would be okay. 

A woman with long dark hair stopped in front of them to pass out food. “All we have is this and some fruit,” she said with a little grimace. “Neither of you need blood, right?”

Derek blinked at her. “No. Werewolf, human.” 

“Ah. Sorry, I can’t smell a damn thing.”

Stiles squinted at her. “Are you from Ito’s faction?”

“Yes,” she said slowly. “Why?”

“I think we’ve met before on a mission.” Stiles flicked an uncertain glance at Derek.

He nodded. “Wyoming.” 

Her eyes lit with recognition. “Hale’s team. Right. I’m Sen Longi,” she said when Stiles looked a little blank. 

“Ah, I remember.”

She nodded firmly. “Hey, I’ll talk to you guys later. I have to finish passing out the food.” She shook the box in her arms before she walked away. 

Derek yawned.

Stiles rubbed his leg. “Why don’t you go to sleep when you’re done eating?”

“What about you?”

“I will keep an eye on you.”

“When will you sleep?” Derek didn’t look happy when he shrugged. “You have to sleep, Stiles.”

He sighed quietly. “I will. Just—not yet, okay?” He lowered his voice. “I don’t feel…like that’s a good idea.”

Derek studied his face intently for a moment. “Alright.” He kissed his cheek and started eating. 

Stiles was tired, he knew he was, knew he might even fall asleep if he tried. He just—didn’t feel quite real, and wanted to stay conscious until he did. So he watched over Derek when he went to sleep, and Scott and everyone else. Erica sat beside him with Boyd at some point. Boyd’s face looked chalky and his eyes gleamed briefly before the closest lantern to them shut off. 

“You okay?” Erica asked. 

He snorted. “Maybe soon.” He shrugged and didn’t elaborate. “I’m just—still coming down.”

Erica nodded. “Me too.” She rested her head on Boyd’s shoulder.

Stiles studied him and wondered if he had nightmares like Stiles did. He’d seen everything Stiles had done, while he was doing it, had walked him through the horror step by step. Maybe he was able to distance himself in a way Stiles couldn’t. After all, he hadn’t been there, hadn’t _felt_ it in the way Stiles had. 

“Do you ever not feel like a person?” Erica asked quietly. “Or maybe like…everything is a dream and you’re about to wake up, unscathed, any second?”

“Yeah.” Stiles flexed his fingers. “Yeah, I do.”

She seemed satisfied with that and went quiet.

 

Hours after they’d gone to sleep, Scott sat beside him. “I can watch. You go get some sleep.” 

Stiles shook his head. “How many people did you kill today?”

“Thirty-nine,” Scott replied. 

That made sense. Scott was the kind of guy who kept count. Scott kicked moral-guilt’s ass in almost every case. “I don’t know how many I killed. I don’t remember their faces, or even just one face.” He felt Scott staring at him worriedly, so he stood up. “I gotta pee. Can you keep an eye on Derek? And wake him up if he starts having a nightmare?”

“Sure. Don’t go too far.” 

Stiles waved him off. “I won’t.” The woods were quiet, as most of the animals had fled the area. Stiles wasn’t sure if it was the smoke from the nearby, well, war or the noise. Either way, it was a tense sort of quiet, like nature was holding its breath to see what would happen next. It wasn’t hard to wander deep enough in that the stench of gunpowder faded. Stiles didn’t even realize why he was still walking until he drew in a lungful of semi-clean air.

He relieved himself and turned back after a minute. He didn’t want Scott to come looking for him and leave Derek. He rubbed his face as he walked, scraping dried blood off his cheek. He felt a dim sort of horror, like his emotions were covered in a layer of ice, which was stupid. It’d probably been there for hours. 

The hair on the back of his neck raised. He hesitated, looking over his shoulder. He couldn’t hear or see anything; all he had was the sensation that he was being watched. He grabbed his knife off his belt and stepped to the right, letting his shoulder brush each tree trunk that he passed as he walked. He was listening so hard that when he did hear a footstep, it sounded like a gunshot, shattering the silence. 

He pressed his back against the nearest tree. He had a flashlight on his belt, but it would ruin his night vision.

A second later, it didn’t matter.

Two hunters came into view, nearly passing him. They had guns and silver chains crisscrossing their backs, gleaming against their dark uniforms, moving slowly to keep quiet. The man spotted him and jerked, cursing.

Stiles lunged before he could turn his gun on him, wresting it from his hands and flinging it away into the dark. 

The other tried to take aim; Stiles twisted and shoved the man he was fighting at her. 

He knocked her gun out of her hands; Stiles kicked it as hard as he could, sending it skittering through the trees and underbrush. 

The man flew at him with a vengeance, his fist plowing across his face. 

Stiles swiped his knife across the back of his hand, making him curse. He jumped back. He was going in for another slash when a glint caught his eye. He jerked away in time to keep from getting hit in the face. The chain slammed across his chest instead. He doubled over, gasping, winded. When she pulled her arm back for another swing, he threw himself at her, knife arcing high.

Her scream pierced the night. They hit the ground with a painful jolt. 

Stiles sat up and saw his knife in her eye, not deep enough to reach her brain, but lodged in nonetheless. 

Her comrade froze with apparent horror.

Stiles yanked the blade free and cut her throat. He twisted and lunged straight up at her partner. 

He backpedaled, fumbling for the sidearm at his hip.

Stiles grabbed his arm as it was swinging up, cutting the inside of his wrist. 

He cried out, loosening his grip. 

Stiles twisted the gun away from him and held it to his face. “Are there more of you?”

He sobbed, trying to stem the flood from his wrist.

Stiles flicked the safety off of the gun and kicked the man’s left ankle out. When he was on his knees, Stiles held the gun between his eyes. “Are there more of you in the woods?”

“ _Yes,_ ” he rasped, baring his teeth.

A barrage of gunfire exploded from the direction of the camp. A howl rose, sounding the alarm; the low rising hiss of an enraged group of vampires made Stiles shudder. 

He cut the hunter’s throat; blood sprayed across his chest. He kept the gun in hand and ran for the camp. Smoke stung his eyes, thickening as he drew close to the perimeter. 

Two hunters were ahead of him, blocking his way. Beyond them, fires blazed throughout the camp and people were running in all directions. They saw him and started shooting wildly; he ducked behind a tree, crouching low. There was a break in the shooting. He bolted to another tree. 

“Just go fucking get him, Ted,” one of them snapped. “It’s one guy, alone.” 

Stiles stayed crouched beside his tree. He watched until he could see the gleam of Ted’s eyes in the firelight and sprang up, shooting him before he had a chance to do more than shout. 

“Goddamn it, Ted,” his partner muttered. 

Stiles ran out before he came to check it out; a bullet struck a tree as he passed it, making him flinch. 

The gun went off again; Stiles gasped. Searing pain blazed up his left forearm. He shook it off and lunged, knocking the hunter off balance. 

He squeezed his gun in surprise, firing into the dirt.

Stiles pushed his stolen gun under his jaw and fired. 

The commotion drew their comrades’ attention; Stiles counted six coming his way. He looked around, weighing his odds. He shot off to the left, using the smoke and noise of the fighting to camouflage him. He had to get back to the group, but he could see no way through.

He spotted an opening and ran, pulling up short as a hunter swung at him.

“Come here, you little bastard.” She grabbed his injured arm, making him hiss. 

He yanked hard; the blood wetting his arm made it easy to slip right out of her grip. He bashed his gun against her temple. He shot her in the face when she crumpled. 

The fire was blazing from several points, the biggest in the center of the camp where people had been gathering for first aid. So many people were running around and fighting that Stiles couldn’t tell who was who. He couldn’t see any of his family. 

He shuddered. A knife skimmed across his side. He swore, throwing himself to the left, away from the blade. He whirled, slamming his elbow into the face of his attacker. 

While he was regaining his footing, Stiles took aim and squeezed the trigger.

The gun jammed.

The gun fucking _jammed._ Stiles hurled it at the hunter’s face; he blocked it, throwing his arms up. Stiles bolted in and thrust his knife between his ribs and twisted. 

He pulled back and wiped his face with shaking hands. He pressed his palm to his right side; blood seeped through his fingers. It wasn’t deep, but he had no Kevlar, no helmet, and only minimal weapons to use. He was already injured, and he could barely see. 

He crouched beside the dead hunter, patting him down for weapons. He had the knife he’d cut Stiles with, a handgun with and a spare clip, and the dumbass wasn’t wearing any type of armor. 

Stiles swore. Maybe he could find a vest on one of the others. He kept the new gun out and sheathed his knife. He started walking, keeping low and close to the trees. He’d try to tase or shoot the next one, see if he could steal a rifle and a vest. Any protection was better than this. 

As he walked, anxiety crept up on him. Had Derek woken up in time to arm himself? What about John? Scott and the rest?

His whole family was back there. They could be dead and he wouldn’t know.

He found a hunter walking alone, searching the ground, it looked like. Maybe just heading for the camp…with his head down. 

Stiles waited until he was a few paces past him and got behind him. He walked on the balls of his feet until he hesitated, as if sensing he was there. Before he could turn, Stiles sprang forward. He clamped one hand around his mouth and yanked him off balance. He pressed the muzzle against the base of his skull and shot, bracing for his weight. 

The vest was too small to close, but he wore it like a poncho, figuring some protection was better than none.

Back toward the camp. He wished he had a rifle. No. He wished, if he were in the business of making wishes, that he lived in a world where this war wasn’t necessary. 

“I’m telling you, about six of our guys are dead. There has to be a group in the woods, Captain,” a man whined. 

Stiles stopped dead. He pressed back into a tree. 

“Fine. Take a group and search. But stay close. If we need you, you come right back.” 

Stiles mouthed a curse. He couldn’t get back if they were _blocking_ him. He looked around. He could try to wait them out. But that meant waiting to get to everyone else. He shook his head. He couldn’t do that. He’d just have to sneak around. Somehow. 

He wiped his face, smearing blood and sweat on his hand. His chest felt constricted. Probably from the smoke. He bent over his knees and forced himself to breathe evenly for a moment. He straightened. He looked, stepped out, and started walking. He didn’t want to run, lest he make too much noise and draw their attention. 

He was within spitting distance from camp when a barrage of bullets peppered the ground in front of him. He backpedaled, curses falling from his lips in fear. 

Someone began shouting and gave chase. 

“Son of a bitch,” he gasped. Six or seven armed hunters bore down on him, prepared and eager to shoot. He turned and ran into the woods. 

No matter how he evaded, they kept on him. By some stroke of luck, they missed him every time they shot. They kept getting in each other’s way, and he ran in a zigzag pattern. 

It was nearing dawn when he burst through the other side of the woods. He tumbled down a steep hill and into a shallow creek, landing with a splash. He looked back and saw one hunter looking down at him. 

“Fuck.” He scrambled up the other side of the creek, his boots sliding through the mud. He flinched when a bullet struck three feet to his left, spraying dirt over the side of his face. He dug his hands in and hurled himself up the last few feet and onto grass. He bolted to his feet and kept running. He looked around.

He’d fallen into a deserted apartment complex. It was only half finished being built, the construction abandoned as the war began. Stiles took his chances and ran for one of the partially finished buildings. 

It was mostly beams and exposed walls, a work table taking up the biggest open space right in the middle. Stiles found a nail gun and stared at it, then at the empty gun he was still clutching like a lifeline. He threw it aside, disgusted. 

His shoulders tensed when he heard someone step inside; the sound was slow and quiet, trying to be stealthy. He eyed the nail gun with distaste, but it was better than his knives. He moved to the wall and examined the nail gun. He knew it wouldn’t have a lot of power; he’d have to shoot multiple times and hope for the best. He’d also have to hold the safety with one hand and shoot with the other. 

The would-be stealthy footsteps crept closer, nearing the wall he was up against. The man walked past. He had a rifle and a white OWH patch on his vest. 

Stiles aimed high; he didn’t think the nails would pierce Kevlar. _Spray and pray,_ he thought, and started shooting.

Blood spattered with each _whoosh-thunk_ of the nails, striking the back of his neck and skull. 

Once he was down, Stiles dropped the nail gun, shuddering, and grabbed the guy’s rifle. 

The building was wide open in the back, so he slipped out before the others could come look for their buddy. He crept along behind the other buildings. He bypassed the first finished building he found, but went into the second. They hadn’t installed security doors yet, probably so they could make last minute changes easily if they had to. He went to the basement rooms; looked like storage and laundry areas, cold cement floors and no lights yet. Stiles went into the room with _Storage_ on the door.

There were large wooden planks creating twelve storage pens through the space. Each one had a unit number written on it in Sharpie. 

He went to the one furthest back and hunkered down, rifle held close. He’d just have to wait until they lost interest. Then he’d go back for everyone. 

_If there’s anyone to go back to get._ He ground his teeth until the noise drove out the invasive thoughts. 

He didn’t know how long to wait. He let himself doze, but jerked himself awake every time he started to slip deeper. He needed them to leave, not hear him screaming and come running. 

There was nothing to do in the dark, waiting, except imagine all the horrible things happening at the camp. To everyone. He distracted himself by feeling at the cut on his ribs, which was still bleeding, but slowly. It would probably stop soon. The graze on his arm throbbed, but he couldn’t tell how bad it was. It didn’t seem deep. 

He stretched his legs out and set the gun across his lap. His hands were all cut to hell from climbing up the muddy incline, nails ripped up from their beds and cracked painfully. 

He took a breath and closed his eyes. He was going to have to wait here for a long time. Or risk going out there. He was out numbered, but he’d faced worse odds. He was injured, though, and had been running all night. He was exhausted. 

He ran light fingers over the rifle in his lap and let his eyes close. He’d rest for a bit. He had to. If he had a nightmare and screamed, well, he’d just have to fight his way out. His head drooped onto his shoulder. His brain was rapidly slipping into sleep as his adrenaline drained. 

 

Stiles jerked awake. The storage room was pitch dark still. He didn’t move, straining his ears to hear if anyone was running toward him. He had no way of knowing how much time had passed; had he been sleeping for hours or minutes? Had enough time passed that the group of hunters had given up looking for him? Would he run into them as soon as he left the basement? 

He stretched his arms and legs, warming his muscles. He decided to risk it. He had a rifle now, and who knew how long he’d been here? They might need his help at the camp. They might not, but if that was the case, he really needed to get back so they didn’t think he was dead. 

It was dark in the hall, too, and on the stairs, no light filtering in. Stiles scrambled outside and found that it was because it was dark out there. The sky was gunmetal gray, like it was dusk on top of being overcast. He’d somehow missed the entire day.

Anxiety twisted his gut in knots. He’d slept _the whole day._ How could he do that? How could he just screw everyone like that?

“Stop,” he breathed, rubbing his cheek. He’d been exhausted and injured. It was done. No use drowning in guilt now, when he could get his ass moving to remedy the situation. 

Back toward the creak. The air smelled like rain, so he was probably better off going now, before the rain came and deepened the water. He climbed down carefully, favoring his side. Dried blood made his shirt feel stiff and scratchy on that side. That was good; it meant the cut had probably stopped bleeding. 

The creek water was cold, lapping around his feet but thankfully staying out of his boots. 

The woods still smelled like smoke. Stiles was tempted to drag out his flashlight to see if it was as smoky as it felt. A second later, the bottom dropped out and rain fell in sheets. It only took a minute for him to get soaked, even with the cover of the trees. 

He glared upward while tears of frustration pricked his eyes. How was he supposed find them in this?

Furious with himself, he swiped his arm over his eyes and sucked in a shaky breath. He kept walking, even when the ground turned to sucking mud under his boots. The rain was bitterly cold, and it wasn’t long before he was shivering hard enough to rattle the clips of his stolen vest.

He tripped over a body, landing hard with a splash. He rolled to his knees, gun at the ready. He sighed, realizing the person was dead. He clenched his jaw and nudged the body over, bracing himself to see someone he knew. 

It was a man he didn’t recognize, throat torn out by claws or teeth. Stiles sighed and got up. That meant the Pack had survived the ambush. Or some of the Pack. He wiped rain out of his eyes and kept going. There wasn’t anything to do but keep going. He kept the rifle raised and ready, the strap fastened around his shoulders. He wanted to hug his arms around himself, conserve some heat, but he didn’t want to be caught unaware. 

The rain blocked out all other sound, even his own harsh breathing, so he had to hope no one would sneak up behind him. He glanced over his shoulder every few yards to be safe. 

The hair on the back of his neck rose, but he didn’t feel threatened. He hesitated, then stopped walking altogether. His gaze swept over the trees and brush, over the mud underfoot. He stiffened when he saw tracks, half-formed from the rain washing them away. They were leading east, and Stiles was sure he was heading south. Maybe he wouldn’t cross paths with whoever they belonged to. 

He lifted a foot to take a step and whipped around, gun raised. A sob of relief burst from his mouth. He dropped the gun and ran, letting it bang dangerously against his hip. 

He and Derek collided hard, jostling every bruise and cut Stiles had, but he didn’t care. He clung to him as tightly as he could, clenching his fists in the back of his soaked shirt. 

Derek shuddered, turning his face against Stiles’s neck. Tears poured hot down his face and the side of Stiles’s neck. “I thought you were _dead!_ ” He pulled back, wild eyed and furious. “When you’re lost, you’re supposed to stay put!” 

“ _I’m_ lost? I was looking for you guys!” 

Derek still looked angry, but he was running his hands over him, checking for wounds. “We were ambushed and no one could find you. We all got separated, we didn’t know who’d died in the attack and who got away.” He took a shuddering breath. “I followed your scent out here and through there.” He waved behind him. “Found the hunter with nails in his head but no gun.” He had to pause, gulping. “Then I found that strange unit and your blood was all over the floor. I thought they killed you.” 

Stiles swept his hands up and down his back, trying to soothe him. “I just have some cuts. I was hiding there. A group was chasing me and I couldn’t—couldn’t get back to you guys.” 

Derek nodded. He took a deep breath. “We can go back to where the camp was, maybe, but the Pack isn’t there. Everyone got separated in the fight, and the fires…They told everyone who could hear to start moving, but I went to find you.”

Stiles nodded. “I need to find some gear-”

“I’ve got your bag and mine stashed in the storage cell I found your blood in.”

“You stopped to grab my bag during an _attack?_ ” 

“No, I found it afterward.” Derek wiped rain off his face, though it got covered again a second later. “It’s a little burned, but the fire resistant outer layer mostly held.” He lifted his head and inhaled. “We should get out of the rain. You’re shivering.”

“Did you see Scott? Did you see anyone?”

“I saw our team, our parents. I didn’t see anyone we knew when I walked through the camp.” He grimaced. “There are a lot of bodies.”

Stiles nodded. “We should try to catch up to them. We can probably still catch them.” 

Derek shook his head. “The hunters that survived are regrouping back there. We have to go around.” 

Stiles squinted at him. “How far around?”

He swallowed. “We may have to loop south before we head east.”

Stiles swore. “How many are there?”

“Too many. We’re lucky we found each other without getting caught.” He cupped his hands around Stiles’s shaking shoulders. “We’ll catch up.”

Yeah, but who would they find still alive when they managed that? Anything could happen. “We better.”

Derek pressed a kiss to his forehead and just leaned there for a moment.

Stiles let him. He knew how he felt, thinking the other was dead. “You can help me down that stupid hill, right? My legs are killing me.”

“You fell down it the first time.” He put his hand on the back of his neck, squeezing briefly. 

Stiles’s pain eased back to a dull throb. “Nice guess. And thanks.” He sighed. “Well, you better lead the way. I have no idea where to go, not with all the rain.” He swung the gun back around and stepped up to Derek’s side.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy!

They headed south the next morning, but only after Derek had wrapped up and bandaged Stiles’s wounds. It had stopped raining sometime in the night, so they at least didn’t have to walk while soaked. Stiles had his own vest back, which was nice. At least it fit, unlike the one he’d stolen. 

“There are hunters up ahead,” Derek murmured, closing his hand around Stiles’s wrist. 

They were crossing through a town called Middlecam, on the far side of Gresham. It was just as deserted as every other place they’d passed through. Stiles had to wonder where all the civilians had gone. Surely there were some left that refused to fight for either side. Where had _those_ people gone?

“How many?” 

“Sounds like thirty or so. Could be more.” Derek frowned as he concentrated. 

Stiles shook his head. “Why such a small group?”

“They got separated, and it sounds like their radios aren’t working. Can’t get in contact with their teams.” His shoulders stiffened. “They’re heading this way.” 

Stiles looked around. “We could take cover, I guess.” He spotted a Walgreens and grinned. “Or we could make some explosives.” He nodded at it.

Derek huffed, then paused, looking intrigued. “Do you know how?”

“Aw, Derek.”

“Who taught you?” he asked suspiciously. 

“Come on.” He pulled him toward the pharmacy. “And, um, it was Aya, from Lydia’s lab? A few years ago.” He didn’t know why his face was flushing. 

“Why did she teach you how to make explosives?” He paused to lift Stiles by the waist over the broken doors, even though he could’ve gotten over himself. Then he climbed in. 

“Um, because we were in the lab at two in the morning, alone, and I asked.” 

“Why were you—oh, never mind.” He shook his head. “What do we need?” He looked around the pharmacy. “If there’s anything left that we can use. It looks like people were looting.”

“They probably only took the medications. We’re fine. Here.” Stiles went to the checkout counter and found a pen. The register had been busted open, because, as usual, people had priorities. “I’ll write you a list. Meet me back here when you get it all.”

“And what’re you going to be doing?”

“Rigging the propane tanks I saw outside to blow when they walk by.” He grinned, then pulled some receipt paper from the broken printer. He started scrawling Derek’s list. “Hurry. We have to get it all set up…or we’ll have to let them go while we hide.” He was pleased to see Derek didn’t look any happier about that possibility than he did. 

“Alright,” he sighed, taking the list. 

There were lighters behind the counter, which would make things easier. Stiles piled them up, then went to find some wire. The bottles for the cocktail explosives might be trickier but they would make do with whatever Walgreens had to offer. 

“Okay,” he said as he constructed the explosives. “So, throw as many as you can as quickly as you can. When they scatter, they’ll probably hit the trip wire, so we want to be as far away from them as possible by then.”

Derek nodded. He was watching seriously as Stiles assembled the bottles. “Did you practice this?”

“ _No. _I just memorized what I needed to do. Gotta be thorough.”__

__“Did you get all of your one night stands to teach you a skill you might use?”_ _

__Stiles hesitated, then kept pouring. “No. I just had questions sometimes, and they had answers.”_ _

__Derek inched closer, but made sure to keep from touching him until he leaned toward him. “I didn’t mean anything by that.”_ _

__“Okay then.” Stiles passed him an orange lighter and a green one. “How close are they?”_ _

__He kissed him hard on the mouth. “Too close to change our minds.”_ _

__Stiles scooped up his bottles. “Good. Let’s go.”_ _

__The shatter-and-ignite sounds were glorious, especially followed by the frantic cursing and screaming of the hunters. They had, Stiles observed, decided to travel in a close knit group, probably worried one of them would get picked off like a gazelle or something. They were making it too easy. Three of them stumbled toward the pharmacy, away from the explosions, and tripped the wire Stiles had set._ _

__The blast wasn’t quite as big as he was expecting. A few who hadn’t been hit spotted them. They started shooting._ _

__“Oops,” Stiles breathed, and ran._ _

__Derek matched him stride for stride. “Trees to your left. They won’t want to go in there.”_ _

__Stiles shook his head, conserving his breath for running._ _

__“Well, then, you keep running and I’ll kill them.”_ _

__“ _Bait?_ ”_ _

__“Yeah.”_ _

__Stiles flipped him off, making him laugh. They ran for the trees. Somehow, they always ended up in the trees._ _

__Derek split off when they got into the woods. Distantly, Stiles heard his boots scrabbling over bark._ _

__Stiles let out a piercing whistle, ensuring the hunters on their asses would follow him. He slowed down, thinking they might fall behind. Bullets peppered a tree to his right. He sped up, making sure to run in an uneven pattern. He grinned when he heard one of them yelp. A quick glance showed three more behind him._ _

__He twisted and darted left._ _

__“Son of a bitch!” a hunter seethed. “There’s a werewolf in the trees!”_ _

__Stiles braced his back against a tree, catching his breath and struggling against inappropriate and hysterical laughter._ _

__The branches of the tree across from him rattled._ _

__He froze._ _

__A hunter ran into view. He aimed his rifle up, sweeping it back and forth as he searched._ _

__Stiles looked around. The other hunters hadn’t followed him. He stepped up behind the lone hunter. He put his hand over his mouth and cut his throat in one clean slice._ _

__His body jerked and the gun went off._ _

__“Fuck.” He tilted his head back, but Derek didn’t seem to be in the tree he’d shot at, luckily. He dropped the hunter and bent to search him for spare ammo._ _

__Something knocked into him from behind._ _

__He went sprawling, twisting hastily so he didn’t stab himself._ _

__A hunter loomed over him, pulling his gun around to aim._ _

__Stiles cocked his leg back; he kicked as hard as he could. His boot connected with the hunter’s shin with a _snap_. _ _

__He fell, yelping; a bullet hit the dirt two inches from Stiles’s face, spraying dirt._ _

__He scrambled forward, launching himself at the hunter. He stabbed, but his knife glanced off the hunter’s vest and off to the side, leaving him unbalanced and straddling the hunter._ _

__A fist plowed into the side of his face._ _

__He snarled and swung back; the snap of his nose under Stiles’s fist was euphonious. He swung again and leaned back. He cut his throat and turned his face away. Blood gushed over his hand and arm._ _

__He stood, licking his bleeding lip._ _

__A thick, muffled _crack_ echoed from the right. _ _

__Stiles followed it and found Derek with two other bodies. “Made it,” he rasped._ _

__Derek grinned at him, eyes glowing with something more human than werewolf. _Bloodlust.__ _

__At least Stiles wasn’t the only one._ _

__“Come here,” Derek growled, reaching for him._ _

__They staggered away from the carnage and deeper into the woods. It was stupid and reckless and ridiculous but they were alive and together and they still had all this adrenaline. Stiles yanked Derek’s vest off first, sliding his mouth over his neck while Derek fumbled with his belt. It hit the ground with a _thunk_ , weapons clattering together at their feet. He ripped Derek’s shirt over his head and leaned back, gasping, to let him do the same. Derek’s fangs scraped over his throat and then dug in at his shoulder, just enough that he felt it, not nearly enough to break skin._ _

__Stiles yanked Derek’s belt open and shoved at his pants until they slid off. He grabbed his hips and dragged him closer, biting at his mouth and jaw and neck until he snarled. Their mouths met, blood mingling in with the taste of their kiss. He let Derek tumble him to the ground, arching his back when he landed on broken sticks. He dug his fingertips into Derek’s shoulders until he felt real. He let his head fall back, let Derek mouth across his shoulders and down his chest, then licking and biting his way back up. He felt like he was actually in his body for the first time in days. He felt real. Human. Alive._ _

__He caught Derek’s hips and twisted, slamming his back down and straddling him, palms pressed to his chest; Derek’s mouth was parted as he panted, staring up at him with gleaming eyes. He had blood on his lips from Stiles’s cut, and he was still so beautiful it hurt. Stiles could feel his heart pounding beneath his palm. He slid down, straddling his waist and rocking his hips; Derek’s thumbs dug into his thighs and his head dropped back. He skimmed calloused palms over Stiles’s torso and ribs, up until he could drag him closer and roll his hips up to grind them together and make him moan out loud._ _

__

__After, they laid sprawled in the dirt, breathing together. It didn’t take long for Stiles to start shivering. The temperature was dropping with the sun._ _

__“We…probably shouldn’t have done that,” Derek said. He was still staring at the sky. He’d already mostly healed, save for a cut on his arm from a silver knife._ _

__“Yeah.” Stiles ran his hand down his face and reached for his bag, which had his pants tossed over them. “Here, you should clean that cut.”_ _

__Derek’s hand stayed on his thigh, thumb rubbing little circles in his skin. “It’ll heal,” he mumbled._ _

__“Then we need to get cleaned up and get moving.”_ _

__Derek sat up. “Sounds like someone’s looking for us.” His eyes slowly turned gold, fangs growing from his mouth. “More than those guys survived the blast.”_ _

__Stiles scrambled for his gun. “Get dressed; I’ll keep an eye out.” Once Derek was dressed, Stiles pulled his clothes and gear back on. “Where are they?”_ _

__Derek turned his head, tracking the sounds. His face twisted. “Sounds like two coming from the town, and four from deeper in the woods. Different groups.” He swore quietly._ _

__“We can evade them,” Stiles said evenly. “If you want.”_ _

__Derek studied his face. “You don’t want to.”_ _

__“I don’t want to leave our survival up to chance.”_ _

__“Okay. We’ll take care of them.” He looked conflicted._ _

__Stiles didn’t need a werewolf’s nose to sense his anxiety. “I’ll stay here,” he said. “You go get the two. We’ll handle the four together. Okay?”_ _

__Derek grimaced. “Okay. Call for me if they get to you.”_ _

__“Of course.”_ _

__“Love you.”_ _

__Stiles smiled. “Love you, too.” He pressed a light kiss to his mouth and shoved him. “Go on. I’ll be here.”_ _

__Derek nodded. He ran back toward the town._ _

__Stiles waited until he was out of sight to open his bag. He pulled out the coil of wire from his bag, left over from the explosives they’d set in town. He used his own height to determine where to set the traps. He stretched the wire between several trees, low and high, meant to catch someone either in the chest or at the ankles. Possibly right at throat level if someone was shorter than him._ _

__Once the wires were set, Stiles took a deep breath and let out a piercing whistle, two toned like he was signaling someone. The wires would be more effective if they were running at him. He just hoped Derek would finish up with his two before coming to rip Stiles a new one._ _

__Stiles didn’t need protecting._ _

__He heard them coming a moment later, running at full speed. A lean, dark haired man hit the first wire at ankle-height and went sprawling with a shout; his broad-shouldered comrade wasn’t quick enough to stop himself and ran at top speed into the second wire, which hit him at the chest and flung him back like a rag doll._ _

__The two behind them stopped, gazes roving over their teammates and then the space in front of them, squinting in search of more wires._ _

__The only woman on the team lifted her gun, but Stiles moved, leaving his bag on the ground where he and Derek had been._ _

__The two on the ground were moaning, covering his footsteps. He bolted in behind the third man and nearly stabbed him in the back of the neck, but the woman turned and shot at him._ _

__“Bitch!” the hunter gasped, ducking and rolling. “What is wrong with-” He stopped when he spotted Stiles bolting behind a tree._ _

__He peeked out and tried to take aim, but the woman shot at him again and he ducked back._ _

__“Hey, you’re that fuckin’ psychopath from Nebraska,” the hunter said. “Thought the Pack would’ve put a muzzle on you by now.”_ _

__“Why do that? It’s you guys I’m after.” Stiles ducked behind another tree when he shot._ _

__There were still more wires; he just had to get them to run into them. He grimaced in distaste. “I liked cutting up that guy, you know,” he called, forcing himself to sound casual. “But I would’ve preferred a hunter. Wimpy scientists aren’t really to my tastes, if you know what I mean.” He heard them coming and slid around the tree, keeping his back to the trunk._ _

__“Come here, you sick little bastard-”_ _

__“Ron, _no_ ,” the woman snapped. _ _

__Ron ran like a bull toward Stiles; he was shorter than him. His throat opened up and blood spilled bright over the wire and the front of his vest._ _

__“So, what, you set traps instead of fighting like a man?” one of the others asked._ _

__“No, it’s just more fun to see you idiots run into them.” He cursed when the bark by his head exploded, dropping down and covering his head. His left cheek stung where shrapnel dug into it, but at least it wasn’t a bullet. “Keep wasting your ammo. Who trained you guys to shoot, the Empire?”_ _

__“Did he just call us Stormtroopers?” one of the men muttered._ _

__Stiles bolted to another tree, staying low._ _

__“Davis, shut up and go _get_ him.”_ _

__“Why do I have to? I already hit one of those fucking wires!”_ _

__“Because you’re the tallest. If there are more wires, your Kevlar will protect you.”_ _

__Stiles listened as the largest hunter lumbered closer, grumbling. He counted to ten, tracking him by his heavy footfalls, and lunged, throwing one hand out to shove his gun down. He thrust his knife in the side of his neck and tried to slice._ _

__Davis gurgled in shock._ _

__The other man swung out from behind him and shot twice in rapid succession; Stiles swore and tried to bolt away, but his knife was caught in Davis’s throat, causing him to use his body as a shield on accident. The bullets struck the Kevlar covering his back and made Stiles cringe as his body jerked._ _

__“You are all completely useless,” the woman muttered._ _

__Stiles let Davis’s body fall, knife still embedded; he shot the remaining man in the head while he was turned to the woman._ _

__The woman scowled at him. “What’re you smiling about?”_ _

__Derek rose up behind her and broke her neck. He was breathing hard, blood smeared over his chin and fangs; rage blazed in his eyes._ _

__Stiles almost took a step back; he looked so much like he had when he’d been rabid, ferocious and ready to maim. “Thanks,” he said instead._ _

__“You said we’d handle them _together._ ” _ _

__“I said I’d stay here.”_ _

__“You called them to you.”_ _

__“Yes.”_ _

__“ _Why?_ ”_ _

__“Because this way was faster.”_ _

__Derek looked at the guy who’d run throat-first into the wire._ _

__Stiles swallowed. “They already expect a monster,” he mumbled. “Might as well give them one.”_ _

__“You are not a monster,” Derek snapped._ _

__Stiles laughed mirthlessly._ _

__“If you’re a monster, then so am I.”_ _

__Stiles grimaced. “You’re not—fine.”_ _

__“Fine.” He let out an angry snort. “Go get your bag. We’re going. Sounds like the town is empty now. We can get food and whatever we need.”_ _

__“Okay.” Stiles stepped over the last wire and got his back. “Should I cut these?”_ _

__“Yeah, so no animals get caught.”_ _

__“Right. I think I need to sharpen my knife.” He pulled it out of Davis’s throat. “It got stuck on me.” He wiped it on the leg of his pants and bent to cut the wire._ _

__Derek used his own knife to cut the other wires. “We’ll sharpen it in town. I think I saw an Ace Hardware.”_ _

__Stiles grimaced. “Okay. Hopefully there’s some food somewhere, too.”_ _

__Derek grinned suddenly. “I can always catch something if we can’t find any.”_ _

__“Ha!” He covered his mouth when Derek looked insulted. “Sorry, love, but how much practice have you had actually hunting?”_ _

__He scowled. “It’s instinctive. I could catch something.”_ _

__Stiles nodded sagely. “Of course you could. Probably not around here, though. We scared everything off with all the noise.” He shrugged. “I’m hoping there are TV dinners or something in town anyway. _You_ may be able to stomach raw rabbit, but I can’t, and I don’t want to build a fire.” _ _

__Derek rolled his eyes. “Whatever you say, dear.”_ _

__Stiles elbowed him lightly. “I’m sure you can catch whatever small woodland creatures you want. I was just teasing.” And he shouldn’t have, really. It wasn’t Derek’s fault he’d been raised in the bunker, changing in a gymnasium that only leaked the bare minimum of moonlight his whole life. It wasn’t his fault he’d never really gotten to enjoy being exactly who he was to the fullest. “Sorry,” he said quietly._ _

__“It’s okay. You’re right, I’ve never hunted anything. But I bet I can find us some food in town.”_ _

__Stiles wiped his cheek and grinned. “Alright.”_ _

__

__Middlecam did have an Ace Hardware, right next to a tiny convenience store that had some food still leftover._ _

__“I feel bad taking the food,” Stiles complained._ _

__“Well, we have no money, and the cash register is _literally_ gone, so I somehow doubt they’re going to care if we take some almost-expired bags of chips and candy bars.” He frowned and lifted a box. “And beef jerky.”_ _

__“Nice. Ooh.” Stiles stepped over an overturned shelf. “Found some jars of peanut butter.” He grabbed two. The worst part of traveling on foot was having to pack lightly, especially when they didn’t know when they would run out of places to scavenge. “We should find a car.”_ _

__“Yeah, but I’m guessing most of the gas stations are out of fuel,” Derek said. He was loading his bag up with bottled water, way too much for him to carry._ _

__“Derek, you can’t carry all of that. You’re going to wear yourself out.”_ _

__He shook his head. “You can get dehydrated.”_ _

__“Yeah, so can you. We’ll make frequent stops. Find a car. We can siphon gas.”_ _

__Derek banged his head lightly off the shelf in front of him. “Why am I not surprised you know how to do that?”_ _

__“We need some tubing, but I bet-”_ _

__“ _Stiles?_ ” _ _

__He and Derek whipped around, guns raised— “No, Derek,” Stiles gasped. He lunged toward Derek and swatted his gun down so it pointed at the floor._ _

__“Do you know her?”_ _

__“Yeah.” He lowered his own gun and looked at the girl in the doorway._ _

__Her dark hair was pulled back, leaving her face unframed and painfully young. There was something on her right cheek that Stiles couldn’t quite make out, but he was more worried about the gun in her hand and the Kevlar vest that had clearly been altered to fit her; all the adult sizes would be too big for her._ _

__“Nat! What are you doing here? Where did you get that?”_ _

__“Got someone to take me to the Pack when teams started coming by,” she bragged, grinning. She tucked the gun in a holster at her hip. “Aziza let me stay with her until a team stopped in to drop people off.” She stepped further inside, her boots crunching over glass. “I got separated from my group and I’ve been on my own.” She beamed at him. “They taught me some stuff.”_ _

__“Right.” Stiles knew his face was doing something crazy, but he just couldn’t make it stop. “And you’re…by yourself.”_ _

__“Yes. I heard you talking and couldn’t _believe_ it. Is this your boyfriend?” She pointed at Derek._ _

__Stiles blinked. “Yeah, this is Derek. Derek, this is Nat. I met her on my way to get you and Erica.”_ _

__Derek nodded slowly. “I see.”_ _

__She grinned, turning her head to look at the busted up counter, and Stiles finally saw her cheek._ _

__“Whoa! What happened?” There was a **P** scarred neatly on her face, almost identical to Stiles’s._ _

__She touched it. “Oh, this? Well, everyone’s doing it now,” she said lightly._ _

__Stiles shook his head, baffled. “Why?”_ _

__She smiled. “We aren’t just kitsune or werewolves or vampires anymore. We’re _Pack_.” She looked painfully excited about that. She twisted her fingers in the part of her shirt that was sticking out from the bottom of her vest, revealing a familiar fixed-blade knife on her belt. “Did you guys get separated from your team?”_ _

__“Yeah. We were in here looking for food. Why don’t you go ahead and find some for yourself? I need to talk to Derek.”_ _

__Nat beamed at them again and stepped up to the counter, leaning over to look at the junk food toppled on the floor._ _

__Stiles caught Derek’s elbow and towed him toward the door. “We’re taking her with us,” he breathed as firmly as he could._ _

__Derek glanced back at her uncertainly._ _

__“She’s fifteen. We can’t leave her to fend for herself. She’s a kid.”_ _

__“Alright.” Derek nodded. “I wasn’t going to suggest we leave her behind, anyway.”_ _

__His shoulders relaxed. “I figured, but I had to be sure.” He rested his forehead against Derek’s chest for a second, letting himself breathe._ _

__“I have a car,” Nat said, making them jump. “We’ll have to walk to it, but there’s gas in it, and space for extra food and supplies.” She smiled innocently. “If you guys want me to come with you, of course.”_ _

__Derek snorted. “Does it have spare fuel?”_ _

__“Yeah. I’ve been siphoning from abandoned cars for days.” She shrugged._ _

__“Oh my god, there are two of you,” Derek muttered._ _

__Stiles chose to ignore that. “We’re going into Ace before we leave so we can sharpen our knives.”_ _

__“Cool. Then what?”_ _

__“Then we head east.”_ _

__She nodded. “Well, it’s a frickin’ mess out there, just so you know. Hunters are everywhere, marching in the street. There were some civilians when I left, but most of them fled south, like—to get out of the OWH and the Pack’s way.”_ _

__“Not surprised.”_ _

__She held up a pack of gum. “I think we’ll all need this after a few days, huh?”_ _

__“Probably.”_ _

__She nodded and dumped the whole box into her bag. “Do you guys have more guns like that?” She pointed at the rifles._ _

__“We—no. You should stick with your handgun for now.”_ _

__“Fine. The car is parked outside of town. I didn’t want to run into anyone who wanted to take it,” she explained. She dumped some candy bars into her bag, and shook a pack of Tic Tacs before adding that, too. “I’ll take you guys to it.”_ _

__Derek glanced at Stiles before following her out, clearly wondering what he’d gotten them into. He had to admit he was wondering that himself. He wasn’t exactly the best choice for childcare, even for a teenager. But he was also the _only_ choice, currently, and awkward was better than dead._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise!


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I posted this already x.x Oops. Please enjoy! I love hearing your thoughts, seriously. It makes me so excited to post the rest! :D

The car Nat had stashed was a black sedan, just roomy enough to store their extra things in the backseat and as many gas cans as they could fit in the trunk. She’d parked it haphazardly behind someone’s garage, hoping to hide it, but…

“It’s sort of stuck. In the mud.” She smiled nervously. “Because of the rain last night.”

Derek sighed. “Okay. Nat, stay back. Stiles, get in and put the car in reverse.” 

Nat backed out of the way. “I can help. I’m strong,” she added petulantly. 

“The car isn’t that heavy, I don’t need help.” Derek waited until Stiles had buckled in, then rounded the car. “Go ahead, put it in reverse. I’ll see which tires are stuck.”

“Whatever you say.” Stiles put the car in reverse. He grimaced at the sound of the tires skidding against the mud. “Does this thing have A/C?” he asked Nat while Derek circled the car.

She gave him a weird look. “I dunno. I didn’t check. It’s like fifty degrees, dude.” 

He shrugged. “Does it have heat?”

“Yep. And a goofy CD collection, which is awesome, since there’s only like one radio station that plays music. Everything else is repetitive OWH crap.” She rolled her eyes. 

Derek knocked on the trunk. “Tap the gas when I lift. We’re going to move slowly and at the same time. Turn out. The ground is pretty solid over to the right.”

“You got it, lover.”

“Ugh, you two are gross.” Nat pulled her box of Tic Tacs out and shook some into her mouth. 

Stiles watched Derek in the mirror; his heart lurched instinctively when he lifted the back of the car. 

 

Nat sat in the back seat when they got going. She leaned as close as her seatbelt would allow, peppering them with questions. 

Derek made Stiles sit in the passenger seat and clean his face, because apparently bleeding in several places made him unfit to drive. 

“So, you guys got split from your group, too? Together?” She looked between them suspiciously, like she thought maybe they’d snuck off together on purpose.

“Not really. I got split from the whole group. Derek came back for me.”

“Aww.” She punched Stiles’s shoulder lightly. “Just like you went back for him. You two _are_ gross.” She didn’t sound disgusted. “Well, while you two were off being gross, I learned how to fight and shoot and stuff.” 

“I’m sure,” Stiles muttered, making Derek smirk.

 

After he slept some, Stiles took over driving, and Derek got in the back seat to nap. Nat curled up in the passenger seat and fiddled with the radio. 

“You aren’t still afraid to sleep, are you?”

“Well, there are two of you.” She smiled. “No, I’m—it’s not that. I’m not tired, is all.” She picked at the toe of her boot. “So you and him—you guys have family that you got separated from? In the Pack?”

“Yes.” He glanced at her, then back at the road. “Yeah, my family is out there fighting. Derek’s too.” He tapped his fingers on the wheel. “Nat, where’s your family? Your parents?”

She shrugged. “Dunno. I’m pretty sure they were killed when I was little. I wasn’t lying when I said my family was taken,” she said defiantly. “The people who were looking out for me a few years ago _were_ taken. They were a vampire and kitsune couple.” 

“You’ve been alone since?”

“Yeah. There’s plenty of homeless kids my age.” She shrugged like it was nothing. “They weren’t even all supes, either.” She flicked him a shy smile. “The Pack Alpha I met said she’s going to help make it better.”

“Who?”

“Yolanda. We came up from Texas.”

Santos’s faction. “So—who was the team that took you there?”

“Balleseros. They trained me, too, and I was with them, um, well, after.”

“After? After what?”

She bit her ring fingernail. “Well, after they realized I was there.”

Realization hit him like a brick. “You were supposed to stay in the bunker.” He squinted sideways at her. “They tried to leave you behind with the others that were under eighteen, didn’t they?”

She shrugged. “Yeah, mostly. I’m sneaky,” she boasted. “I got on the bus and after they’d sealed the bunker, it was too late to take me back. So after that, they just kind of stuck me with Balleseros’s team again, and then we got separated.” 

Stiles snorted, then broke down.

“What? Are you laughing at me?” she demanded, insulted. “I wanted a chance to fight back after everything they’ve done and you’re laughing at me?”

Stiles, now gasping for breath, shook his head. “No, no. Not laughing at you.” He took a deep breath. “No, I was just…amused. Because we’re so much alike.”

“Oh.” She looked pleased, like Stiles had given her a compliment. “That’s okay then.”

“Yeah, okay.” He snorted again, thinking that Derek was stuck with the both of them. 

 

Derek gave Nat driving lessons every once and a while during their drive, because apparently Stiles’s jittering made her nervous, so she wouldn’t drive when he was awake. They made it through most of Utah without seeing anything more than a couple of vehicles heading south. Colorado proved to be even more desolate; there were a lot of broken down cars and buildings with busted windows, like there had been a riot or something. Stiles was driving when it became obvious their food and fuel reserves were too depleted to keep going. 

They were nearly out of Colorado, heading for Nebraska, by the time they started getting desperate. All of the fuel stations they could find were completely empty, and they couldn’t risk using up their last few gallons searching in the towns they passed. 

“I can smell fuel,” Nat said, oddly muffled.

They glanced back at her and shouted at once: “ _What_ are you doing?! Sit back!”

She was hanging out the window, the entire upper half of her body extended out of the car, her waist braced against the door. She wobbled when they hit a pothole; Stiles swore and looked back at the road.

Derek grabbed her belt and steadied her. “You’re going to _fall!_ ” he snapped.

“I’m fine, we’re not going that fast. Stiles, take this little side street. I think there’s a gas station.” She pulled back and sat down, flushed and windswept. “Okay, grannies, chill, I’ll put my seatbelt on.”

Stiles turned where she’d told him. “I don’t see signs for a gas station,” he said doubtfully. 

“Obviously. That’s why it’ll probably have some.” She pulled a pack of gum from her bag and offered a stick to Derek before getting one herself.

Stiles had sworn off gum for the remainder of the ride when he’d sneezed and launched his piece onto the dashboard; Derek still started snickering about that, given the slightest reminder. 

“How far is it?” he asked as they bumped down the rough dirt road. Stiles wasn’t confident that they were going to find anything at the end of the road, but they didn’t have many other options. 

“Close enough to smell.” Which was her way of saying she didn’t know.

Derek huffed and rolled his window down, sticking his head out like the act it was horribly insulting. “Seems like a couple miles. Think we can make it.” He sat back, looking disgruntled. 

 

They made it, just barely, rolling onto the cracked cement running on fumes. The station was dusty and secluded, and most of the letters from the sign were missing, so it looked like the station was named “Penxo”. It was tiny, offering only gasoline and fuel additives on the outside, and a tiny brick box with a window and drawer in the front for people paying in cash. It also seemed to be abandoned. …And set up for prepay only. 

“Well, shit,” Stiles muttered. 

Derek nodded at the kiosk. “I can break in there and set up one of the pumps,” he suggested. 

“Alright. I’ll get the car to pump six.” He gestured at the pump directly in front of the kiosk. 

Derek got out to investigate the kiosk.

Stiles let the car start rolling toward the pump.

Nat twisted in her seat to stare at the kiosk. “Think the glass is bulletproof?”

“Probably.”

“Want to test it?” Her voice was bright and eager, with that edge of ‘deranged’ that only excited teenagers could manage. 

“ _No_. We need the ammo, so don’t waste it.” 

She sighed. “Fine.”

They got out, leaning against the car and waiting for Derek to give them the go ahead to start pumping. 

The whining grind of metal being pried open made them wince. An alarm started blaring. 

“Oh my _god_ ,” Nat complained, slapping her hands over her ears.

They ran together to the door and found Derek fighting with the alarm keypad, face twisted. 

“Why is it on?! Isn’t this place abandoned?” 

“It probably activates on its own after a certain time.”

The speaker for the alarm was above the door on the outside, echoing across the lot. “Can you turn it off?”

Derek glared at him. “Sure, let me just _psychically determine the code._ ”

“Is it written anywhere?” Stiles asked, ignoring his attitude. “I imagine they have a cheat sheet for new hires somewhere.”

Derek stepped back from the keypad, but before he could start looking, a shadow blotted out the sun. 

Nat clung to the bent edge of the door with one hand; she reached up with the other and crushed the speaker. It died with an electronic gargle, pieces of plastic and metal breaking around her fist. She grinned down at them and shouted, “Catch me!” before leaping down.

Stiles threw his arms up automatically and set her on her feet. 

Derek covered his face, shoulders shaking. “Okay. That works, I guess.” 

She grinned at them, looking pleased. “So…gas now?” She leaned around Stiles’s shoulder to look in. “Do they have candy in there or anything?”

“No, looks like just lottery and tobacco.” Derek sighed harshly, wandering around a file cabinet. “The register is locked. It needs a login password.”

Stiles nodded. “There’ll be a cheat sheet somewhere.” He moved past the broken door.

It was a small space, with a desk and computer crammed in the corner, a small walkway leading up to the register and window, which had a fatigue mat in front of it and a small, ripped stool. The register was on, but only lit up with a login screen. 

They each took a section to search. There was a wall with clipboards hanging on it that Stiles started flipping through. Most of them were checklists and a work schedule with scribbles and requests for days off stuck to it. One of the clipboards had the word _Lottery_ scratched out across the top. He picked it up, flipping through the papers on it. None of them had any-

“Wait, wait.” Derek grabbed the clipboard and turned it so he could see the back. 

‘ **Register: 963/ Safe: *159 381C** ’ was written in pink on a sticky note taped to the back.

“I told you there’d be a cheat sheet.” 

Derek rolled his eyes and went to the register, poking the code into the touchscreen. 

Nat snorted. “They don’t care here.”

Stiles looked around. “I wouldn’t either.” He grimaced at the safe code. “Do you think we should grab the cash?” His voice was low with guilt. Shame made him flush, but if things were still semi-running in the east, they were going to need money. 

“Yeah.” Derek glanced at him like he knew how he felt. “I’m just going to set the pump up for a hundred, and we’ll fill up the gas cans and the car.” 

“Great. Um, the safe is under the counter to your left.” 

Derek finished setting the pump. “What’s the code?” He bent to type it as Stiles read the code off. 

While he was bent over, gathering cash from the spare till, Stiles tipped his head, enjoying the view. “Mm,” he hummed appreciatively. “That ass.”

Nat stuck her head back in the kiosk. “What’d you say?”

Derek jerked, banging his head on the underside of the counter and swearing. 

“I said “got gas!” because we’ve, um, now got…gas.” 

She didn’t look convinced. “Uh-huh.” She shot them a disgusted look before going outside. 

“You okay?”

Derek scowled at him, rubbing the back of his head. “Here, there was a hundred and eighty-six dollars in cash in this till, and one-eighty-three in this one.”

“What’re you doing?” He took the stack of mixed bills he held out.

“There’s another part of the safe. I assume it’s where they put the money that doesn’t go in the tills. At least until it gets picked up.” 

“Sure, if you say so.” Stiles split the cash into three and folded one pile into the pouch on his belt. He tucked the second into Derek’s back pocket, and if he copped a feel on the way, well, Derek didn’t complain and Nat was outside. 

Derek snorted at him, but didn’t get up. He was still trying to pry open the inner safe. 

“Oh, move.” Stiles nudged him. 

“Well, if _I_ couldn’t open it-”

“Yeah, yeah, your might makes all of us mere mortals tremble in our boots.” Stiles crouched in front of the safe and pulled his lock picking kit out.

Derek made a low, embarrassed noise and backed up a step.

“You can go pump the gas if you’d like,” Stiles suggested. He stuck his tongue between his teeth as he worked on the lock. He smiled when Derek squeezed his shoulder and shuffled out. 

Outside, Nat knocked on the thick window and shouted, “Looks pretty bulletproof!” 

“You aren’t testing it!” he called back. The safe finally opened. Inside were two large bags and four smaller ones, all sealed, all filled with cash. The smaller bags had four hundred dollars each inside; the larger had a little more than two grand in each. Guilt twisted his stomach as he stood, bags in hand. He spotted a pad of sticky notes and a Bic ballpoint pen. He set the bags on the counter and scrawled _Sorry_ across the top note and stuck it dead center of the register screen. It wouldn’t help, wouldn’t fix it, but maybe when everything was done, he could come back and repay them. Somehow.

He split the rest of the money in three equal piles and rolled his up to put in his bag. He looked around the room once more before heading outside. “Hey, did you fill up the gas cans and everything?”

“Yeah, we’ve just got this one to do,” Nat said, nudging the one Derek was filling. 

“Here, keep this somewhere safe.” He held out her third of the cash. 

Her eyes widened as she fell back a half step. “What? No!”

More guilt made his mouth feel dry. “It sucks, I know, but we might need money the further east we go.”

“Can’t you hold onto it for me?” She backed up further, still looking nervous. 

“What if we get separated? I’d feel better if you had some money.” 

“No one will care if I have _money_ if I get caught,” she pointed out.

“Then it doesn’t matter if you take it.” Stiles kept holding it out until she took it reluctantly.

She brushed her fingers over the bills nervously. To a kid who hadn’t had much, it might’ve been a little jarring to be handed so much money. She shoved some in her bag, and the rest down into her boot. She shrugged. “Just in case, right?”

“Right.” Stiles handed Derek his portion of the money. 

“Thanks. We’re all done here.” He set the nozzle on the ground instead of back in the pump. “In case someone else needs it.” He shrugged. “I’m going to go put the door as close to back in place as I can.”

While he did that, Stiles and Nat loaded the trunk up with the gas cans. 

“We need food,” Nat said. “I’m out of Tic Tacs and basically everything but gum.” 

Stiles leaned into the passenger’s side, pulling out the map they’d found in the glovebox. “Next town is called Hendersonville. We can top there, see if they have a Wal-Mart or something.” 

“Sure.” She looked in the backseat. “D’you think there’s a bathroom in that little box?”

“Probably. Where else were the employees going to go?”

She just looked at him.

He sighed. “Alright, come on, I’m sure it’s just around back.” 

It was. The door was marked ‘Storage’ and, when Nat broke the door open, it was indeed filled with cleaning supplies, but there was also a toilet and sink. 

“Nice. Watch the door for me.”

 

After they’d all taken advantage of the restroom, they hit the road again. Derek took over driving so Stiles could navigate. 

Nat did some crosswords in the back. She’d grabbed some a couple days back, claiming she needed _something_ to keep her brain from fossilizing. 

The entire town looked like something from a movie set, except dustier, and there were less cars than Stiles was expecting. He guessed most of them probably ran out of gas or broke down on the freeways rather than in the middle of town. 

“Let’s park the car somewhere hidden, then walk,” Stiles suggested. 

The whole place had been abandoned, much like most of the towns they’d crossed through, but this one had clearly been looted, too, down to the houses, leaving only the barebones. Stiles figured they wouldn’t find much by way of supplies if the town looked like this, but they needed something. 

They left the car hidden in the garage of someone’s house; the windows were all busted, and a big, orange **X** had been spray painted across the front door. Derek said all human scents near it were days old. 

There wasn’t much to do on the walk except keep an eye out and think. Stiles had been doing entirely too much of that already, his thoughts spiraling into darker and darker assumptions about what could be happening to his family. Was Scott alive, or Cora? Isaac? What about John and Claudia? What if they’d tried to go back for them like Derek had done for Stiles? What would they find? 

“Stop,” Derek murmured, reaching out to squeeze his arm.

“Stop what?”

“Worrying. We can’t do anything until we catch up. There’s no point in stressing yourself out about it.”

He snorted. “That’s the only thing I _can_ do, though.” 

“That’s not true,” Nat said scornfully.

He lifted his brows. “Oh, no?”

“Nope. We can play the last letter game. Or the alphabet game!”

Derek smirked. “Yeah, Stiles, we can play the alphabet game.”

He wrinkled his nose. “The last letter game is better. What’s the topic?”

“Movies!” Nat cried at the same time Derek said, “Books!” They glared at each other. Then looked at Stiles.

He held his hands up. “Rock-paper-scissors, guys. Don’t make me choose.”

Derek won, so they played the last letter game with book titles as they walked. They trailed off into silence as they approached the super Wal-Mart. 

Nat rubbed her hands over her arms. “Why are Wal-Marts always sort of creepy at night?” she whispered. 

It was only evening, but the lack of parking lot lights, or even the otherworldly fluorescent glow from the store, made it seem darker than it actually was. 

The doors were broken, and the carts had been sort of stacked like a barrier in front of the openings. 

“I don’t hear anything in there.” Derek tipped his head. “Maybe some animals getting out of the cold.”

They stood shoulder to shoulder, squinting into the dark store. Derek’s eyes lit up, and Nat’s followed. 

Stiles took the first step, grasping the cart barrier and shaking it. They were interlocked pretty tightly. “I’m just going to climb over.”

“I’ll lift you.” Derek put his hands around his waist, careful of his cut side, and lifted him over the carts. He and Nat leaped over like the show-offs they were. 

Stiles could’ve jumped. He might’ve caught his foot, but he’d have made it over. Probably. 

It was even darker in the building, with just a few emergency lights lending some illumination. 

The floor was carpeted with leaves, glass, and debris from the looting, crushed food and what looked like tobacco. All of the registers were broken up, screens cracked and hanging on the check-out belts. 

“Nice,” Nat breathed. “So—canned goods and Twinkies?”

Most of the fruit and meat was rotted so, unfortunately, junk food was the only option. Stiles’s foot slid over something that looked like it was once an orange; he caught himself on Derek’s arm before he hit the floor, laughing a little as he righted himself. The aisles were mostly barren, but there were still a few cans left in the vegetable aisle. 

Stiles stood at the end while Derek searched one aisle and Nat the next. He backed up a step, uneasy. “I’m going to go look around more.”

“We can all go together,” Derek said sharply. 

One aisle over, Nat shouted, “Woo! Jackpot!” in a very clear deviation from their whispering strategy. 

Derek scowled and rounded the corner. “I thought we said we were going to be-” he choked off when he saw the pile of food she’d found.

“Nice.” Stiles wasn’t sure if it was just his paranoia acting up or if the pile of canned goods and prepackaged pastries really did look like a block of cheese on a cartoon mouse trap. The back of his neck was prickling. “Just—don’t touch it,” he breathed. 

She frowned at him. “Why?”

“Just—let’s look around a little more before we take it.” He tried to keep his voice steady, but that didn’t matter much with supernaturals. He was likely pumping out enough anxiety signals to suffocate them. “Please?”

Derek glanced at him, then at the neatly piled food. “Come on. There might be stuff in the frozen section.”

“There’s no power,” Nat pointed out. “It’s all gonna be gross.” 

“Then maybe there’s more canned stuff in the back-stock area.” 

She sighed and pushed to her feet. “Alright. But if we don’t find anything, _then_ can we come back?”

“Sure.” Stiles took his gun out.

“There’s no one here.” 

“It’s a big store,” he muttered. 

The frozen section was terrible, and there was a forklift blocking the door to the back dock. 

“There’s another one in the shoe section.” Derek nudged Stiles on. He could’ve easily moved the forklift enough to open the doors, but clearly he wanted to prove something. 

Stiles’s skin was crawling. It looked like the forklift had been put there on purpose. He glanced over his shoulder and wiped at his cheek. Maybe he was just seeing shadows over nothing. 

The doors by the shoe section weren’t blocked. “See?” Derek squeezed the back of Stiles’s neck, letting his palm rest against his skin for a moment. “There’s no one back there. Come on.”

The slap of the doors falling together behind them made Stiles flinch. 

“Dude, chill,” Nat breathed. She snickered. “It’s just the door.” She glanced at his face; her smirk fell away. “Did you see something?” She moved closer.

He shook his head. “No, it’s just—just a bad feeling.”

“Huh.” She eyed him critically. “I get those about people sometimes.” 

Derek said, “The sooner we search these boxes, the sooner we can get out of here.” 

Stiles nodded. “Alright. Let’s look.” 

Most of the pallets were wrapped in clear plastic, which they shredded with their claws. Stiles used his knife, satisfied that it cut through easily. 

Most of it was useless—cleaning supplies, pet food, cat litter and the like—but some digging produced a pallet with cereal boxes packed together. Nat happily ripped open a box of _Froot Loops_ and ate it by the handful. 

Derek shook a box of _Frosted Flakes_ at Stiles. 

He took some to make him happy, crunching on them one flake at a time. His nerves were still prickling, so he faced the rest of the store room while they pulled the cereal down. Everything was dark back here, and probably looked like it had when the employees had left. Why? Wouldn’t looters come back here in search of stuff? Wouldn’t they know extra stock was stored back here?

Stiles bounced on his toes. He bit out, “I’ll be right back. I’m just going to check the third set of doors.”

Derek glanced at him worriedly. “We should stay together. We can-”

“No, really, it’s fine.” He pointed at the far end of the room. “Just checking those doors. You’ll hear if I need help.”

Derek hesitated, then nodded. “Alright.”

Nat watched through a red loop as he walked away. 

The doors were heavy black rubber and several feet over his head, just like the ones they’d entered through, and the ones that’d been blocked by the frozen food aisles. 

He pushed on the doors. He sighed when they swung a little. He pushed a bit harder, letting the door flop open. 

A man caught his gaze beyond the door. He had blood on his hands and an _OWH_ patch. 

Stiles gaped for a second.

The man snatched for the radio at his hip.

Stiles ran at him, shoving a clothes rack out of his way. 

The man swore and turned, running for the front of the store. 

Stiles was on his ass and out for blood. He _knew_ that pile of food was a trap. That little shit had probably been about to block them in there until his team got there. Stiles leaped over a broken TV, snarling as the hunter bolted just out of his reach. He didn’t want to shoot and risk calling the rest of the hunters. He just had to catch up.

The hunter glanced back and swore, skidding through the debris at the front. He flew out the doors and careened into the carts with a crash.

Stiles didn’t even slow down; his knees slammed into the hunter’s back. 

A rib snapped under the force and he screamed, thrashing where he was pinned between Stiles and the carts. 

Stiles wrestled him around so he could see his face. “Where’s your team?” he shouted. He shook him when he didn’t answer. “Where?!” 

He smiled. “Inside.”

Behind them, something rolled loudly, slamming. 

Stiles whirled, his hands still fisted in the hunter’s shirt. 

A metal shutter had been drawn down where the doors used to be, locking them out. 

Stiles slowly turned back at the hunter. 

He was still smiling. “They’re going to take your pets and turn them into weapons for us. After they have some fun with the little bitch, first. We’ll use them to win.”

“Well,” Stiles said, remarkably calm, “ _you_ won’t.” He stabbed him and cut across; blood sprayed his face. He stood, wiping his mouth. There were other doors. He’d just find another way in. 

He climbed over the fallen cart barrier and started down the pavement, where the others were. They couldn’t have blocked them all. If they had…

He pressed shaking fingers against his mouth. If they had, he’d go tear this fucking town apart until he found a chainsaw and cut his way through.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dark!Stiles makes a return in this chapter....C:

It was happening again. He’d left Derek and Nat behind and it was happening _all over again._ He’d left them behind to chase that hunter. Stiles gripped his hair, panic racing through him and leaving him weak. He was letting it happen again. They were going to think he abandoned them to save himself. That he left them there so he could get away. They probably hadn’t even noticed he was gone until the gates slammed down. Tears flooded his eyes, panic strangling him until he thought he would just pass out right there on the side walk. 

He looked back at the doors. They were just strong enough that he couldn’t get through them on his own, but that didn’t mean nothing could. 

Stiles was going to get the car and drive it through those fucking metal grates. He ran the entire way back to the place they’d left it—and found a man standing outside, staring at the garage door. 

Stiles whipped his gun out, and nearly shot until he caught a gleam of silver. “What’re you doing?”

“I’m looking for someone. A kid I’m responsible for.” The thin, dark haired man stepped forward. “Pack?” He had a **P** scarred on his face, like Nat, but he looked more familiar than that. 

“Yeah, Pack. Your name is Luis, isn’t it? Balleseros’s team?”

He blinked, his brows rising. “Yes…” He squinted. “You’re Stiles, from Hale’s team.”

“Yeah. Look, I need your blood.”

More surprise, and distrust. “Why?”

Stiles scrubbed at his face. “Some hunters took the people I was with, one of them is a teenager, they’re going to hurt them and I—need help.” 

“Is the teenager…a kitsune?” he asked warily.

“Yeah…” 

“Damn it, Nat.” Luis rubbed his eyes. “I’ll help. But you should know, vampire blood-”

“Can have side-effects, I know, I’ve heard,” he said impatiently. He hadn’t been affected before, so he probably wouldn’t be this time. Even if he was, it didn’t matter. “I can’t help them if I get shot and can’t get up.” 

“Okay.” Luis held his wrist out. When Stiles hesitated, he said, “I don’t exactly have a cup to offer you.” He slid a nail across his inner wrist. 

Stiles drank deeply, until Luis nudged him away. “Thanks.” He licked his lips and grimaced. 

Luis nodded tightly. “I’ll help. What’s the plan?”

“Break in. Get them out.”

“I saw that Wal-Mart. It’s huge. How do you expect to find them?”

Stiles started walking. “Fine. So we’ll catch the hunters first and ask them.”

“How?”

“It’s Wal-Mart. I’m sure there’s plenty of things we can use.” Stiles glanced at him. “Maybe you shouldn’t go in. I think they plan to turn Derek and Nat rabid, and you’d just be handing them another person-”

“I’m immune,” he interrupted. “We used my blood and others to cure the ones we had in our lab, per Peter Hale’s instructions.”

“Oh. Alright.”

Luis nodded sharply. 

The blood made it easier to see in the dark. It was also making Stiles’s heart race, but that was okay; he could use the adrenaline. 

They ripped open the metal shutters like tissue paper and climbed in. Stiles turned and twisted them back in place. 

When Luis looked at him questioningly, he said, “They might try to escape.”

The next look Luis shot him was more cautious. Good. 

Stiles bypassed the other aisles for the sporting goods section. It’d been cleaned out of knives and weapons, but for the creative mind, there was still plenty to work with. “Luis, grab me those butane cans,” he instructed, picking up a roll of fishing line. 

“Need some help? Win taught me some stuff.” His voice sounded weird there, but Stiles didn’t have time to wonder about it. 

“I’m just making some trip wires,” he muttered. It was amazing how much easier it was to see with the vampire blood in his system. “Grab some of those packs of fishing hooks.” 

“Where do you want them?”

Stiles tossed him a spool of fishing line. “Go nuts in aisle twelve. About…face height.” He bared his teeth. 

Luis bobbed his head and headed off. 

Stiles rigged the butane canisters with the fishing wire and a butane torch he found kicked under the shelf by the bicycles. When tripped, the wire would turn on the torch, which would cause the other canisters to explode. 

 

It took another five minutes to set up the rest of his traps; Luis looked caught between impressed and horrified. 

“Tangle wires and fishing hooks first,” he mumbled. “Come on. You stand on the far end, so they don’t try corner us both.” Stiles went to stand by register eight; Luis went to register twenty-two. 

Stiles whistled sharply. “Derek?” he called at the top of his voice. “Nat?”

A gunshot cracked out; empty candy boxes exploded to his left. 

“Aw, come on, guys. You don’t want to waste your ammunition on one lone human, do you?”

A muffled howl came from the back of the store, so quiet Stiles could barely hear it, which frightened him. He could hear the heartbeats of the hunters closing in on him. He turned his head, tracking the closest one until he was only two yards away. 

He bolted like a horse from the starting gate, grinning when the hunter chased him. “Don’t suppose you guys will just give my friends up quietly,” he called. 

A bullet struck the shelf he was passing with a deafening _bang_. It ricocheted and grazed his arm, searing hot, then gone again before he even reacted. 

He bolted left and pressed his back into a solid shelf.

The hunter slipped in the sugar that they’d spilled over the walk way and straight into the fishing hooks that were rigged up. His screams made Stiles’s vision swim. 

He swallowed back the nausea and stepped around in front of the hunter. 

Across the store, he heard a panicked shout as the hunter chasing Luis fell into the tangle wires. 

“Are they in the back room still?”

The hunter was shaking, too afraid to move to answer him. 

Stiles could understand that. “How about this: I’ll cut you down, you’ll answer whatever I ask, and I let you go?”

“Y-yes,” he breathed. Blood slid down his face like sweat. 

Stiles cut the fishing wire holding the hooks in place. He held his gun to the hunter’s face. “Back room?”

“Yes.”

“Are they—did you inject them yet?”

“No.”

“How many of you are there?”

“Seven,” he spat, prying a hook out of his cheek. 

“How many are guarding them?”

“Two.”

Stiles nodded and shot him. When his body slumped, he saw another hunter aiming at him. He tried to move, but the bullet struck the outside of his right shoulder, winding him. Blood poured over his vest while he gasped.

“Sick freak,” the hunter muttered. He was bleeding in several places, glittering in others, which meant he’d tripped the wire in aisle seventeen and dumped a bucket of broken glass over his head. 

“Yeah, a little bit, probably.” The bullet pushed itself out, the pain making his eyes flutter. “What were you going to do with them?”

“Use them, of course,” he sneered. He leveled his gun at Stiles’s face. “If you lift your gun, I’ll shoot. Let’s see you survive a headshot.”

Stiles kept his gun hand down. “Why aren’t you with the rest of the hunters? Did you guys just decide to hide in here like a bunch of cowards?” He slid his left hand up to his hip, grasping his knife. He hurled it and ducked. 

The blade sunk into the hunter’s eye, making him scream and squeeze off a few rounds. 

The sound made Stiles’s ears ring, his head throbbing, but he ran in low, tackling him at the knees. He yanked his knife out of his eye and slashed it across his throat. “They’re in the back!” he called, panting, and stood.

Luis approached him frowning. “Why’d you want the butane? You didn’t use it.” 

Stiles smiled grimly. “Not yet. Come on.”

Luis shook his head. “There’s another hunter wandering around. I’m going to get him. You good?”

Stiles pressed his fingers into his right eye until it stopped throbbing. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’ve got it.” 

One of the hunters was trying to inject Nat when Stiles found them in the back. She flipped over onto her stomach and kicked him in the face, then scrambled a few feet away. Her hands were bound and she was gagged, her hair messy like someone had pulled on it. She looked furious instead of afraid this time, blood smeared around her nose. She smiled around her gag when she saw Stiles coming. 

He grabbed the hunter by the hair and yanked his head back, cutting his throat quickly. He dropped him and cut Nat free. “Where’s Derek?”

“They locked him in the freezer. They had a hard time controlling him, so they beat the crap out of him and locked him in there.” She wiped her nose on her sleeve. 

Stiles ran for the freezer and got sidelined by another hunter. They went down in a tangle; nails scratched at his eye, a gun nudging his jaw, and then the hunter was lifted away from above. 

Luis dragged him out, nodding briefly at Stiles. His eyes glowed. 

Stiles had a feeling that guy was lunch. He got up and turned to the freezer, ripping the padlock off barehanded. He was surprised it worked, but he’d had more vampire blood than last time. 

Derek stumbled out snarling, cuffed and gagged and enraged. 

Stiles put his hands on his face until he recognized him and relaxed. He cut the gag off first. 

“Nat,” he rasped immediately, his eyes brightening with fear. “They took her off—they separated us, I couldn’t-”

“She’s fine, she’s okay.” Stiles found his hands bound in silver and wolfsbane, wrists raw and bleeding. He broke them off, surprised to feel the silver sting his fingers where he touched it. 

“What’d you do?”

“I ran into Luis from Balleseros’s team. He helped me.”

“Helped you how?” When he didn’t answer, Derek flipped his hands over and saw the silver burns. 

“Just—some blood. So that if I got shot it’d heal. And, apparently, strong enough for that.” He nodded at the twisted padlock.

Derek kept staring at him. “There are _side effects._ ” 

“I haven’t had any so far,” Stiles pointed out, which was maybe not exactly true. His head was throbbing. “And you guys are worth it. Now, we have to go. There are still hunters around.” 

Nat ran up to them with her arms full of things she’d taken from the hunter’s body. “Stiles, who was with you?” She sniffed at him. 

“He’s right—right, um—right out there-” His stomach pitched suddenly, his mouth filling with saliva. He cleared his throat and swallowed. “He’s out there.”

Derek took his arm. “Come on, you don’t look so good.”

“Thanks,” he rasped. 

“Luis!” Nat yelled upon spotting him. “Hey! Where’s everyone else?”

He wiped his mouth. “Let’s get outside first.” He left the hunter on the floor and approached them. 

“But-”

“We just got separated, Nat. I’ve been looking for everyone.” 

Dawn light creeped through the metal shutters; as they were leaving, an explosion rocked the floor. 

Stiles slapped his hands over his ears, whining pathetically at the sound.

Derek grabbed his elbow and pulled him onward, leading him out into the light.

He squeezed his eyes shut. The sun hadn’t fully risen yet, but the light pierced his eyelids like needles. His head throbbed.

“—side effects,” Luis said quietly.

Stiles cringed and twisted away, bending over his knees and getting sick all over the sidewalk. He pried his eyes open and gasped when he saw blood.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Luis said, holding him upright. “That’s what’s supposed to happen.”

Derek scooped him up bridal-style. “I’m taking him to the car.”

Stiles drifted from there. His whole body hurt, but his head was the worst. Everything was too bright and too loud, too warm and, oh, god, what was that _smell?_

“Try to drink some water,” Derek urged, holding a bottle near his mouth.

He turned his head away, groaning. “No. God.” He gagged, but nothing was left to come up. 

“I can turn you,” Luis offered. “It’ll make your symptoms go away right now.”

Stiles lifted his head dizzily. He was in the back of the car, sweating and weak. “No. It’ll go away on its own, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Then no.”

“Here.” Derek pealed his sweaty shirt over his head.

Somewhere, Nat gasped.

Stiles looked down. A large, black and blue bruise covered most of his left side; another was on his lower right abdomen, and another across his shoulder. 

“It’s the blood,” Luis said. “It’ll go away.”

“We can’t move you like this. We’ll find a place to hunker down and ride-”

“No.” Stiles swallowed thickly. “We have to keep going. Just—god, someone give me something to cover my face, and keep going.” 

They moved around some while he was dozing; at some point he was moved, he felt Derek moving him, but he couldn’t pull himself awake enough to look around. He woke up stretched out in the backseat, so hot he felt like he was dying.

“Oh, my god,” he groaned, pushing and shoving until the blankets fell off him. He ripped his shirt over his head. He was blindfolded. 

“Stop, stop, Stiles, stop!” Derek caught his wrists. “Stop it! Your skin is freezing, we have to keep you warm!”

“No.” They were going to smother him. Fear of burning daylight kept him from yanking his blindfold off. “Too hot.” He tried kicking his pants off, but Derek stopped him. 

“You’re sick, Stiles, just-”

“Let him cool off,” Luis instructed from further away. “Just lay with him, should keep it from getting worse.”

“I don’t want to hurt him. The bruising-”

“I doubt he can even feel it.”

Fingers touched his arm, burning warm. “Want some water?” Nat whispered. 

Stiles grimaced, turning his face away. He sighed with relief when Derek eased his pants off, letting cool air slide over his legs. 

Derek stretched out next to him, a long line of burning heat that he wanted to recoil from but couldn’t quite make himself. “His skin is like ice.”

“He’ll be okay.”

“Why won’t he drink anything?” Nat demanded thickly.

“It’s a side effect. He’ll be fine once it’s out of his system.” 

Stiles drifted off again, wracked with nightmares but apparently too exhausted to lash out with them. His shivers died down. He woke once hunched over a bag sometime later, dry heaving while Derek rubbed his back, and then he woke again to gunfire. He fumbled at his blindfold with clumsy fingers, but once it was off, the sunlight blinded him. He frantically felt around for the door handle, but he couldn’t get it open, couldn’t get out and- 

Then Derek was running soothing hands over him, shushing him. He gingerly slipped the blindfold over his face again. “We’re okay, everyone’s here.”

“Don’t die, you can’t go away,” Stiles babbled deliriously.

He brushed his lips over his cheek. “We won’t.”

 

Stiles woke again to a still vehicle. He laid still for a moment. He felt achy but not too warm—a little chilled, actually. He hooked a thumb carefully under the blindfold and lifted a little. The car was dark. He pushed it all the way off and sat up, his heart hammering. He was alone in the backseat of an SUV of some kind, not the car they’d taken with Nat. The front seat was empty. 

He looked over the seats he was in and saw the cargo space was full of gas cans; at least one of them was theirs. He could see the blue on the side where Nat had colored on it with a marker out of boredom. His mouth felt dry, his throat like sandpaper. 

A bottle of water on the middle console between the front seats caught his eye. He snatched it and twisted it open. The plastic crinkled noisily as he guzzled it, gasping between gulps. Once he’d finished, he looked at the console again.

A piece of paper with _Stiles_ written across the top lay where the bottle had been. His heart clenched. Had they left him behind because he couldn’t keep up? He reached out with shaking fingers and lifted the note.

 _Stiles,_ it read, _We will be RIGHT BACK. Stay here! It is 8:45p as we’re leaving. We won’t be long. –Derek._

He saw the keys in the ignition and lunged forward, twisting it on. 

The radio clock read 9:27pm. They hadn’t been gone _too_ long, then. He looked down at himself and wondered how long he’d been lying there in just his boxers. He flicked the ignition back off and looked at his chest. The bruises were faded to yellow-green blotches, all along his torso and even his legs. He had faint bruises around his wrists, too, probably from fighting with Derek. He brushed his fingers over the one on his abdomen, wincing. He bet Derek had been in a panic at the sight of those. 

He found his clothes folded on top of his bag and pulled them on; the shirt was new, dirt smudged on it but lacking bullet holes or blood stains. He followed up with his weapon belt and, after some consideration, his vest. 

Stiles was not great at waiting, but he tried. He bounced his legs and counted to two hundred. There was no point in trying to follow them; he wouldn’t know where they’d gone. He couldn’t track them. He didn’t even know where he was, let alone where they were.

He was about to try anyway when he heard someone running toward the car. He braced, ready to fight but hoping he didn’t have to.

Nat threw open the door, shouted, “You’re alright!” and flung herself at him.

He caught her awkwardly and let her hug him. “Where’d you guys go? How long was I out?”

“Three _days_. And we were getting food. Luis found a Pack emergency supply thing, it was underground? I dunno. It was all dusty canned food and jugs of water. We brought some for you.” She scrambled back to let Derek through.

He looked terrible, pale and exhausted, but when he saw Stiles, he smiled. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“You’re wearing clothes.”

He laughed awkwardly. “Yeah, I was cold.” He glanced over his shoulder. “So, where are we?”

“Missouri.”

“Holy hell!”

“Yeah,” he said grimly. “We’ve basically caught up to the front lines.” 

“Have we-”

“We haven’t found them yet. Mostly we’ve been seeing Santos’s faction.”

Stiles swallowed and nodded. “Right.” He backed up. “Do you guys want me to drive for a while?”

“Not yet.” Luis opened the driver’s door. “I’m sure you feel fine, but you probably still have some light sensitivity, and we don’t need you crashing when you see headlights. Nat’s going to drive for a while.”

“Oh, yay,” she muttered. 

“You’re doing fine.” Derek patted her shoulder and climbed in the back with Stiles. “We’re fine on food and water for now, but we need fuel and ammo,” he said, looking uncomfortable. 

“Oh. Great.” Stiles rubbed his face. “So…”

“We’ve been following this convoy of hunters for a bit,” Luis said. “We’re far enough back that I doubt they’ve noticed us. I figured we can siphon some gas from them, but we’re not eager to engage, as there’s quite a few of them.” 

“So what’s the plan?” Stiles leaned into Derek’s side. He felt achy still, like he’d just gotten over the flu, and the heat radiating from Derek’s body felt nice. 

“We’re going to separate one of the vehicles from the rest and take their supplies,” Derek murmured. 

“Nice. How do we separate one of them?”

Silence met his question.

“Ah.” He rubbed his cheek against Derek’s shoulder. “I guess we can’t just wait for one of them to get tired and fall behind.”

“That only works with things on foot.”

Luis buckled into the passenger seat. “They’re real hunters. They’re well trained. They have a rotation schedule of drivers, so that one car doesn’t ever have to stop by itself to switch drivers.”

“Do they stop for long periods at all?”

“Only once every two nights, as far as I can tell. We’ve been listening to them talk when we can. They should be stopping tomorrow night.”

“How long do they stop?”

“Through the night.”

Stiles hummed thoughtfully. “Okay, so we’ll orchestrate a way to slow down the one at the end and get them alone while they’re sleeping.” He was already thinking of how they could do that. Cause a slow leak in three of its tires, maybe, or mess with the engine. He thought the tires were probably a better bet, if they wanted to avoid getting caught.

What if the whole convoy stopped for their tires? It would be better if it was just one tire. An SUV of hunters could handle changing one tire. 

Derek rubbed a thumb against his temple. “I can hear your brain clicking.” 

“I was thinking…we probably can’t provoke them into chasing us, so we’ll have to come up with another way to separate them from the group.” 

“Like?”

“Flat tire?”

“Just one?”

Stiles smiled and kissed his jaw. “Yeah, just one.” He raised his voice. “Let me tell you what I was thinking.”

Luis turned in his seat to listen as Stiles straightened up.


	20. Chapter 20

It turned out they were in a city, which made it easy to follow the hunters without being noticed. When they stopped the next night, Luis found a spot to hide their SUV. Once it was safe, they found an abandoned, busted up building to watch the hunters. 

“Too bad we don’t have a sniper,” Luis sighed. “Be nice to pick them off.” He made a little popping noise as he moved his scope from hunter to hunter.

“Dork,” Nat snorted. She was huddled next to Derek by the exposed brick wall, shivering. She only had her long sleeved shirt and no jacket over her Kevlar, so she was trying to sap body heat from whoever she could. “Isn’t it supposed to be warmer here?” They were sitting on a layer of cardboard Derek had gathered to form a mat, cushion against the cement floor.

“Not in the middle of winter. Now who’s the dork?” Luis grinned at her.

She stuck her tongue out at him.

Stiles looked out at the vehicles. “Do you know which one we want?”

“Yeah, the license plate is VZV919,” Luis replied. 

The gray jeep Commander, then, near the back. The hunters had circled their vehicles tightly, apparently trained to minimize risk of robbery. Too bad. It would’ve made things much easier if they’d have just left the cars wherever. 

“We could always go ahead and lay spikes if this doesn’t pan out,” Luis whispered. 

“Yeah, but if we lay spikes, they’re all going to stop, and we’ll have to fight them all.”

“Which is why our current plan is to hobble one of the vehicles.” Luis held up a finger. “I think I should go. I’m faster than all of you, and quieter.”

Derek looked annoyed, but Nat was the one that snorted and grumbled that she would be faster, if she wasn’t half frozen.

“Fine. But make sure to slash the tire, not stab. If you stab it, the knife will blow back-”

“I know,” Luis said. “I know how to do it, don’t panic.” He looked back at the hunters. 

Stiles scowled. He wasn’t panicking. He was justifiably concerned with succeeding in their mission. They were nearly out of fuel and also nearly to the war. They needed more ammo if they were going to stand a chance. 

“Go.” Luis nodded at Derek and Nat. “Get some sleep.”

Stiles shook his head. “My nightmares,” he explained through his teeth. “If I start screaming, we’re screwed.”

“Ah.” Luis nodded. “You did that a couple times while you were sick.” He turned his attention back toward the hunters. “We all have nightmares,” he said, as if he could sense Stiles’s humiliation. 

He probably could; his face felt warm. Vampires were probably able to sense those kinds of things. He’d have to ask Boyd, if—when they found him and the group. He rubbed his cheek with the back of his wrist. “I can keep watch if _you_ want to take a nap. I didn’t help any with the driving, it’s the least I can do.”

“Well, alright.” Luis passed him the scope. “Thanks.” 

“No problem.” Stiles moved so he was centered in the broken window.

Derek had reported that the hunters usually moved at first light, and they didn’t want the tire flat until they were all on the road, so they were waiting until just before dawn to sabotage the tire. That way, it wasn’t deflated when they started going, and they wouldn’t stop to change it before they were all moving.

After a while, Derek joined him at the window. “You can sleep, if you want. I’ll wake you up before you scream.”

Stiles shook his head. “I’m fine. Get some rest. Seriously.”

Derek studied his face. “I’ll keep you company, then.”

Stiles glanced back toward Nat, but she was covered by Derek’s jacket and sleeping next to Luis. He sighed. “Alright. What is it?”

“Why’d you freak out?”

Stiles pulled a hand through his hair. “Which time?” he asked bitterly. 

“Before you found Luis. You freaked out enough to take a _lot_ of blood and made yourself sick.”

Stiles swallowed. “I left you guys behind,” he said quietly. “Again. I had to get you back before they could hurt you again.” His gaze flicked to Derek’s wrists. They were healed, but Stiles remembered them raw and bleeding from the cuffs the hunters had put on him.

Derek thumbed his cheek gently. “Why do you think you left us behind?”

“Because I did!” He forced himself to lower his voice. “Because I chased that hunter instead of just telling you guys we had to go, and they locked me out.”

“How could you have known?”

“I knew something was wrong. I should’ve forced you guys to leave.” He swiped at his cheek, frustrated. “Instead I just—and then you were both stuck in there. Again.” 

“Not ‘again’. Completely different situation.” Derek sighed. “But I understand why you felt like it was the same one.”

Stiles shrugged and looked back down at the hunters. “Do you think any of them…ever…stop and think ‘this is wrong’?”

“I wanted to. Before.” He drew his knees up. “I wanted to believe not all of them were bad people. Now, after…everything…I just don’t have enough faith in the human race for that.”

Stiles nodded. “I don’t, either,” he added for good measure. He smiled wryly. “Which doesn’t say much about me, I guess.” 

Derek smiled back. “You’re Pack. You don’t count.” He shifted his gaze to the hunters. “They’ve got rabids in some of the vehicles. They’re planning to set them loose on Pack fighters. Distract them with their own. Make them easier to kill.”

Stiles stared at the cars. “If we didn’t need the supplies, we could rig the whole convoy to blow.”

“You’ve been a bit of a pyro lately,” Derek observed. 

He bared his teeth. “I want them all to burn.”

He nodded. “Got it.”

 

They waited the rest of the time in silence. At some point, Derek curled down and set his head on Stiles’s lap. After a moment, he started stroking his hair, making him let out a happy rumble. 

The three of them waited in the shadows while Luis slashed the tire just before dawn. If he got caught, they would fight. Luckily, somehow, he made it without incident, and they retreated to their car to wait.

Stiles didn’t really believe it would work. He thought they’d run out of gas, or the whole convoy would stop to change the tire, or something, but Derek and Nat were so confident that he kept his doubts to himself. 

Which was lucky. The gods must’ve smiled upon them or something, because around nine in the morning, when the tire of the Commander went too flat to drive on, they stopped, but the rest kept going.

Derek could hear them. “They have a can of Fix-a-Flat they’re going to use, that’s why they didn’t flag the others down.” 

“Okay. Vests on,” Stiles ordered, hopping out. They were leaving their own vehicle faraway in the hopes that it’d avoid damage if there was a big fight. 

Two men were guarding the woman dealing with the flattened, rear passenger tire, leaving the driver relatively unprotected. 

Stiles pulled the door open and cut her throat before she even knew he was there. He pulled her body out and dumped it on the ground, swiping the keys from the ignition and tossing them to Nat. 

She caught them and ran back toward the SUV. 

Luis and Derek made quick work of the three on the other side of the jeep. “There’s a rabid in the back,” Luis said quietly. 

Stiles shuddered. “I don’t suppose anyone has a syringe we can use to cure them?” he asked dryly. He swallowed when they all stared at each other. “I didn’t think so.” He looked at the vehicle, then nodded. “Alright, here’s what I’m going to do. You guys let them out. I’ll have them chase me away from here, and try to just…lose them in the city. Maybe lock them up somewhere safe.” He rubbed the back of his hand over his mouth. “That way, when everything is done…”

“Someone can come back and administer the cure,” Luis finished. 

“It’s the only plan that doesn’t involve death.” Stiles rubbed his face. “That I can think of anyway. I’m open to suggestions.”

“It should be one of us. We’re faster, and you haven’t slept. Plus, you were sick.”

Stiles clenched his jaw against the urge to argue. They were right, so there was no point. “Fine, just do it quickly. Nat will be back with the SUV soon.”

Stiles got in the front seat (and out of the way) while Luis prepared to run. 

Derek opened the door. 

The jeep rocked as the prisoner roared, fighting the restraints. Stiles watched out of the windshield just in case the other hunters came back to see where they’d gone.

The back of the SUV bounced, followed by another roar. 

Derek must’ve broken or unlocked the shackles. After a minute, he knocked on the window by Stiles’s head. “They’re gone.” 

“Alright, let’s start stripping this thing.” He jumped out.

The hunters they’d carjacked had kept the rabid in a silver cage, and their supplies filled the space around it. Extra ammo—even some for guns they didn’t have, and most of the bullets were silver, but they took them anyway—and first aid kits took up most of the space.

Their fuel reserves were disappointing—two full cans, plus whatever was in the tank—but it was enough for now. 

They siphoned the gas from their tank with the long tube they’d been using for the smaller car they’d had before, straight into their own gas cans. They filled their car with one of the spare gas cans. 

Luis returned while they were packing up. “He’s locked in a motel on a hundred and twelfth street.” He pushed his hair back and sighed. “Okay, how bad was it?”

“We’ve got plenty of spare ammo, and more guns, but they didn’t have a lot of fuel,” Derek reported. “Enough for another full tank after this, I’m guessing.”

Luis swore. “Alright. We’ll have to make do. We’re close anyway. I can smell it.”

Nat and Derek nodded solemnly, but it was too far away for Stiles to pick up yet. He trusted them, and, after Nevada, he wasn’t ready for the scent of battle again, anyway. 

“Let’s go, before they come looking. I’ll drive. Stiles, _get some sleep._ ” Luis narrowed his eyes at him until he nodded wearily. 

“Trust me, I want to. I will.”

“Good. Nat, get up front with me. We can practice driving.”

She sighed and turned to the passenger seat. 

It ate gas like crazy, but the SUV was nice to sleep in. Stiles couldn’t completely stretch out, but he had way more space than he’d had in the sedan. 

Derek sat with his back against the door, stretching his legs across the seat. He patted his thigh until Stiles crawled on top of him. “I’ll wake you up,” he murmured. “Promise.”

Stiles rubbed his cheek against his chest. “Okay.” His dreams were murky and bloody, indistinct in the way they used to be. Maybe he was getting better at putting the memories away again. 

When he woke, it was evening, and Derek was dozing off, his cheek resting against the top of Stiles’s head. His fingers were tangled in Stiles’s vest, like he was scared he’d roll off the seat. 

Stiles yawned into his shirt and carefully sat up.

Derek made a noise and blinked awake in an instant. “Where are we?”

“Illinois, as of two hours ago,” Luis responded. “They’ve still got power.” 

“ _What?_ ”

“We passed a Kroger gas station a while back,” Nat reported. “The girl realized Luis was a vamp.”

“Wait, wait, you guys stopped _for gas?_ ” Stiles shook his head. “And someone was _working?_ ” 

Nat nodded frantically. “Yeah. She told Luis to stay in the car and pumped the gas for us. There were police _everywhere_. I guess, like, retail spaces, like gas stations or whatever, have been declared safety—safe—um…”

“Safe zones. Civilians and non-combatants are supposed to be safe there, but we all know that’s just a way of saying humans are safe to go there.” 

“What the fuck…” Stiles looked around. “So—so how have we not caught up yet?”

“I think we’re just behind the Pack, whichever faction is managing to force the fighting further east.” Luis sounded frustrated. “We can’t quite catch up. Every time we start to, they get ahead of us again.”

“I can drive for a while,” Stiles offered firmly. “I haven’t taken a turn in days, it’s not fair to you guys. Come on.” 

They pulled over so Stiles could move to the driver’s seat; Nat insisted on staying in the passenger seat, so Derek covered his face with Stiles’s jacket and took a nap. 

“Do you feel better?” she asked. She held a bottle of water out at him and positively beamed when he took it.

“Yeah, I feel better. Sorry if I scared you.” He flicked a glance at her. 

She sniffed. “Well, don’t make a habit of it.” She curled her legs up on the seat. “Your boyfriend? Huge worrywart. Definitely the mom friend.” 

Stiles grinned. “You think so?”

“I stand by my “gross” assessment. Cute, but gross.” She shrugged.

“Thanks.” He drained the bottle. He was probably still dehydrated from when he was sick. “What are the chances you stay behind when we catch up to the fight?”

“None.” She stared out at the road. “We had to fight when you were sick.”

“I thought I heard gunfire.”

She nodded. “We protected you.” She turned to look at him. “We all protect each other, right? So let me help and I won’t have to sneak out to help.” 

“Ask no questions, hear no lies?”

“Something like that,” she mumbled. 

He shrugged. “Hey, I’m not your parent, I got no authority to tell you to do anything.”

She snorted and wiped her face on her sleeve. “Right.”

 

They found the group of Pack fighters the next morning, in what used to be downtown Chicago. The air was gray and harsh with smoke, gunfire echoing off the busted buildings and abandoned vehicles. 

“There!” Luis gasped, pointing.

A woman stood atop a blue Toyota Corolla, shouting orders and directing Pack soldiers at a charging group of OWH fighters. She had a gun strapped across her back and one in hand, her boots stained with blood and mud that stretched up her black cargos.

Stiles’s jaw dropped. “Is that…?”

Derek replied, “Uh-huh…” 

“Who?” Nat breathed. “Who is that?”

“That’s Derek’s sister.” They were already geared up, their bags stored as safely as possible in the back of the SUV, so Stiles flung himself out and ran. 

Derek bypassed him and ran straight for the car. He stopped by its side and _howled_. 

Answering cries rose from the Pack soldiers, but the woman on the car looked down. 

“Laura!” Stiles cried, almost slamming into Derek’s side. “What the hell is on your face?”

She brushed her fingers over the red leather eyepatch covering her left eye. “I lost the black one in Idaho. Jessa found this in a costume shop for me.” She grinned fiercely at them. “We’ve split into groups, and then we split _them_ into groups. Turns out, we’re best at hunting in packs.” 

“Okay. Where do you want us?”

She jumped down and wrapped her arms around Derek first, then Stiles. “Let my people handle this group. We’re nearly finished with them. I’ve been so wor-” She looked around them. “Who’s that?”

Stiles glanced back. “That’s Luis, you’ve met him before. Part of Sofia Balleseros’s team.”

“Uh-huh. And the kid?”

“Nat. She’s our friend.”

Laura continued to frown at her. “How old is she?”

Stiles glanced back again, wondering if he could get away with fudging her age a little.

Unfortunately, Nat was gazing at Laura and looked exactly like a love-struck teenager. 

Stiles sighed. “Fifteen.”

“You brought a _fifteen_ —”

“She was _alone_ , we couldn’t just leave her.”

Laura frowned at them. “Yeah, alright. After we take care of this group, we’re bunking down for the night. Keep her close,” she added sternly. 

“She’s a pretty good fighter,” Derek began delicately. 

“No, it’s not that, but that’s a concern. She’s a kid. Watch her. But there are reporters.”

Stiles took a step back, looked at Derek, then at Laura again. “Reporters?”

“Yeah. Or journalists? I don’t really know what to call them. They are documenting, because apparently that’s the thing to do in the middle of a civil war that you aren’t helping with.” She turned her head to look at her group. “We’ve been using the divide and conquer method.” She shrugged and rubbed her jaw. “So-”

“Hale!”

“ _Sofia?_ ” Luis shouted, and bolted past them.

While Laura and Luis were talking to Sofia, Stiles went to get Nat, who seemed frozen in place. “Are you okay?” He followed her gaze to where the fight was going on, the trail of bodies in their wake. “Yeah, it’s a lot to get used to. Laura’s team seems to have it locked down, so we probably won’t have to help right now.”

Nat nodded slowly, her gaze unwavering. “Okay. So what do we do?”

“We’re going to stay close to our group, and out of the way until Laura needs us— _what_ are you staring at?”

Her gaze snapped down instantly, cheeks flushing. “Nothing,” she mumbled. She shuffled closer. “We going now?”

“Yes.” He led her to Laura, who had her shoulder pressed against Derek’s while she spoke to Sofia. 

“So we’ll circle around, meet Sen’s team on the outside of the city,” she continued. She cut a glance at Stiles, then Derek. “With all of us split up like this, militia and Pack, we’ve been more effective.”

“Right. Good plan.”

Nat was hovering just behind Stiles, alternately staring and ducking her head. 

He wasn’t sure what she was doing, but keeping an eye on her became astoundingly easy. She never moved more than two feet from either Derek or Stiles. 

 

By the time Laura’s group was done with the hunters, it was deep in the night and they were setting up a camp of sorts. 

People wearing camo patterned Kevlar were milling about the camp, taking pictures and videos on smartphones and pausing to ask questions.

One of them tried to talk to Stiles, but he only got as far as, “I want to ask you about Nebras-” before Derek snapped that they had no comments. 

The journalist narrowed his eyes. “This is important. This is _history_ ,” he pressed. 

“No. Comment.”

Another man grabbed the reporter’s arm. “Lex, there are other people to talk to.” He pulled until he started walking.

Stiles let Derek shuffle him toward the SUV. They’d moved the gas cans to the floor of the front and back seats, and laid the seats down so they could stretch out and sleep. “I could’ve answered his questions.”

“There’s no point.”

“No point in hiding, either. The Argents made sure people knew what I’d done.” 

Derek shook his head. “Doesn’t matter.”

Nat looked between them. “What’d you do?”

“Something bad,” Stiles muttered. 

“To find Erica and me,” Derek stressed. “Not because you wanted to.”

“What was it?” She leaned closer. “Was it like the guys at Wal-Mart? I saw the dude with the fish hooks in his face.” She grimaced, crossing her arms. “He was gross and deserved it.”

Stiles looked at her sharply. 

“Bad gut feeling.” She nudged him. “Was it like that? The fish hooks?”

“Kind of, but worse.” 

“Oh.” She shrugged. “I used to steal food.”

Stiles let out a surprised laugh. “That’s way different.”

“Bad thing, good reason.” She shrugged again. “I’m not here to judge.”

Stiles chuckled again. “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

Laura marched up to them. “Hey, so I’m obviously sleeping by you guys. We’re getting four hours of downtime before we hit the next city.”

Nat shuffled her feet until she was part way behind Stiles.

“Okay. Have you…” Stiles grimaced. “Have you seen anyone?”

She shook her head. “But some of the reporters have,” she said before Stiles could get disheartened. “I saw a photo of Scott and Cora a few days ago.”

Stiles covered his mouth. “Were they-”

“They were okay. It was a group picture.” She turned her head to look at someone. “Anyway, you guys bunk down. I’m going to check the perimeter watch schedule, then I’ll be back.” She kissed Stiles and Derek on the cheek, shot Nat an odd look, then walked away.

Nat sighed. 

Stiles cleared his throat. He thought he knew why Nat was acting so weird now. “C’mon, let’s eat something before we sleep.” He was going to pretend he didn’t notice, and avoid embarrassing her. When he smirked significantly at Derek, he just looked confused. Either he was totally oblivious or he was a better actor than Stiles thought.

He glanced at Nat’s flushed face. Nope. Derek was completely oblivious. He nudged Nat, because he suspected she’d stand there watching Laura all night if he let her. _Teenagers._


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this now because I've been fighting with ao3 for hours trying to get [rebekahdarian's](http://archiveofourown.org/users/rebekahdarian) things sorted for her and I'm guessing it's going to be just as bad for me! :D We are So Close to the end guys. So. Close. I'm freaking excited.
> 
>  
> 
> **Also, warning for suicide in this chapter.** I can put a description at the bottom if you need me to, which I forgot to add.

Sen Longi’s team had already finished off the group of hunters they’d been fighting, so they loaded up the vehicles and headed east. In Cincinnati, they found another group of hunters, bigger than the one they’d faced in Chicago. It was enormous, an endless sea of people who wanted to kill them, and it was disheartening. Just seeing them made Stiles’s shoulders slump. They had so much more work to do. Another mixed group of Pack and militia was already fighting them, but they weren’t gaining ground. 

Stiles was amazed to see, though, that some of the werewolves were fighting fully shifted alongside human-shaped partners. He also saw something _huge_ , probably the size of a large horse, made of shadows with burning ember eyes, bolt past the wolves and soldiers and rip through a hunter’s Kevlar like wet cardboard.

“Everyone out!” Laura roared, and they flooded out of the cars and into the street. 

Stiles nearly got knocked over by a russet-furred wolf, but Derek caught his arm and kept him upright. It was different, fighting in the chaos and keeping an eye on someone less skilled than him. He’d fought on a team before, had watched out for his teammates, but fighting and making sure Nat didn’t get hurt was an entirely new challenge.

Derek helped. They stuck close together and tried to make sure she only had to deal with the bare minimum.

She noticed and tried to dodge out from behind them, and nearly got shot in the face.

“Stay behind us, or go back to the car!” Stiles shouted. He shot the hunter running at him in the legs and grabbed Nat’s arm, yanking her closer. “You’re going to get hurt!”

“I can fight!” she snarled. “Stop hovering!”

“You-”

She turned sharply and shot a hunter point blank where he’d been creeping up behind Derek. “I can _fight_ ,” she repeated. “Let me!” 

“Fine!” 

Derek let out a strangled gasp and fell, knocking into Stiles’s side. 

He caught him and saw that a hulking, vacant-eyed alpha had tackled him, frothing at the mouth and snapping sharp fangs in his face. Stiles backpedaled, dragging Derek with him. 

“Kill him,” Derek instructed. “Shoot him. Now!” 

Stiles shook his head. “He’s-”

Nat ripped the rifle from a fallen hunter and turned it on the rabid.

Stiles twisted and covered Derek’s head just as she started shooting. Blood spattered the back of his vest. “Okay,” he panted. “Okay.” 

Derek got up. “We can’t—we can’t risk trying to save them all.” He shook his head. “We have to win this for the rest of them.” 

Stiles nodded and swallowed. “Fine.” 

“Don’t freeze again, okay?” Derek stared him hard in the eye. “We’re all doing the same things.”

They were both breathing hard, already bloody. “I won’t.” Stiles nodded and turned back to the fight. “Okay.” The stink of gun smoke and burning wolfsbane stung his nose and eyes as he fought, keeping him somewhat grounded. It was easy to fall into the familiar rhythm of violence, it always was, and when he was able to slow down, he’d be worried about that. At the moment, it suited him. He tasted blood and smoke and death, but he didn’t care. Aim, shoot, dead, next. 

A blood spattered wolf darted past as he was reloading, followed closely by a vampire whose face Stiles couldn’t see, but he flinched anyway. 

A roar up ahead gave him a pause, one split second too long. A bullet grazed his left arm, knocking him back a step and setting him swearing bitterly.

Derek shot the hunter. “Are you okay?” He had to shout so he could hear him, his ears ringing with adrenaline and gunfire. 

“Yeah.” He twisted away. 

The yellow wolf and the vampire were in front of them, protecting them so they had time to reload. The wolf had blood all down its throat and all up its face and…

“ _Erica._ ” 

The wolf danced back, pulling a hunter’s leg out from under him. She snarled viciously, fangs tearing through cloth and skin as she shook her head. 

Boyd, because that _was_ Boyd, shot him while he was down. 

Stiles leaped forward. “That’s _Erica_?”

Boyd nodded tersely. “Busy now,” he reminded him, and dove back into the fray. 

Erica licked her muzzle and lunged teeth first at the next hunter. 

Stiles stepped back, turning only to find that he and Derek were separated by a group now. He spotted Nat at Derek’s side and licked his lips. 

A hunter skidded in front of him, holding a bloody gun with wild eyes and a missing front tooth. She lifted her gun, but her hand was shaking. 

Stiles rushed her. His shoulder hit her wounded arm and she screamed, dropping her gun. A knife slashed his arm where he’d been grazed, but he barely felt it. He shoved his pistol under her chin and shot. 

He pulled his rifle in front of him and, as Laura called it, used the spray and pray method on the remaining hunters.

They yelled and twisted to face him. The only good thing about being vastly outnumbered was that they tended to get in their own way. 

Stiles made sure not to hold still for longer than it took to get his footing, darting close and pulling up fast. Behind the group, Derek and Nat began to pick them off while Stiles distracted them. A hunter tackled him in a desperate move; they hit the ground hard. Stiles rolled, but she used her hips and slammed him back onto the cement. He got his knife out of his sheath at the same time she did.

Her mouth curved. Her knife flashed as she brought it down.

Stiles jerked his head aside. He made an involuntary noise as the blade struck the pavement next to his head, nearly piercing his neck. He didn’t pause. He just slashed across her exposed throat. It opened up and spilled blood all over his face and chest. He shoved her off and got to his feet; a bullet whizzed past, close enough to feel the heat of it next to his ear. He turned. Shot. Next. 

 

It wasn’t enough. They were too equally matched, there was too much chaos. As many hunters they were killing, two more replaced them from the teeming mass of them still waiting for their chance to fight. It wasn’t long before both sides were retreating from the bloodstained streets and leaving a smoking, corpse-littered mess in their wake. 

Stiles was searching the crowd for Erica and Boyd when he heard a familiar voice giving orders. His heart skipped. He thought, he was sure, but…he could’ve been wrong. It was over a distance, over various other chattering voices, over the ringing in his own ears. He turned, flicking his gaze over the crowd. 

Scott’s face was bloody and smeared with mud, but he lit up when he saw Stiles. He tore across the street before Stiles could even move, shoving people out of his way and all but bowling Stiles over. 

“Hey,” Stiles gasped as they collided. All of his cuts and bruises throbbed, but he clung on, gripping the back of Scott’s vest and holding tight. “Hey, you stink, man,” he laughed, pressing his face into Scott’s shoulder.

“We thought you died in the ambush,” Scott panted. “We thought—and we were scared that Derek found your body when he went back.” He leaned away; his face was streaked with tears, but he was beaming. “Oh, you’re hurt.” He wiped his nose. 

“It’s nothing big, really, I-” He cut off as the yellow wolf at Scott’s side head butted his hip. “Erica?”

“No, Isaac,” Scott corrected. He wiped his face and patted Isaac’s back. “He’s—we figured out we fight better in mixed group. He’ll change back in a bit. Come on. Cora, Erica, and Boyd will want to see you. Where-” He seemed to brace himself. “Where’s Derek?”

“He’s here somewhere, I just saw him, but I lost track.”

Scott nodded. “We’ll find him.” He led them away and toward the medical area, running out of the back of an ambulance they had procured. It became clear to Stiles, as people stopped them to ask Scott for directions, that Scott was in charge of this group, as Laura had been the last. 

“Where’s my dad?” Stiles croaked after Ry marched away with orders to make sure everyone had ammo. 

“He’s definitely with Claudia, and they’re both supposed to be with Talia, Ian, and Satomi. They cut north, but they’re fighting, too. They may be further east than we’ve gotten, even.” Scott made a gesture when they reached a crowd. 

Cora’s excited shriek dissolved into coughs as she leapt on him, but he clung to her anyway, letting her cough in his ear. “Hey, you,” she said, faux casual. Her face, especially her mouth, was blistered, glittering with silver. 

“Sit down before you fall down.”

Stiles looked over her shoulder and let out a quiet, relieved breath. “Hi, Melissa.” 

Her eyes teared up at the sight of him, but none fell. She pointed at a folding chair. “Sit down, so I can get started on you, too.” 

Erica and Isaac approached while he was getting stitched up, human shaped and dressed. They tackled him, ripping open his stitches and nearly knocking him out of his chair. Erica got her arms around his neck and Isaac clung on to his other side. They were both shouting at once, even over Melissa’s berating of them, and then Laura joined them, with Derek and Nat in tow, and it just got worse.

“Fine!” Melissa shouted. “Fine. Isaac, stitch him. I’ve got other people to tend to.” She did pause to hug Laura and Derek, so Stiles figured her yelling was just posturing. 

“Who’s this?” Erica asked, turning to rest her cheek on top of Stiles’s head. She gave Nat a once over that had her lifting her chin.

Derek introduced her, and Erica straightened up, walking closer so she could greet Laura. 

Isaac started dealing with Stiles’s bleeding arm, repairing the stitches Melissa had already put there. He had a scar on his head starting a half-inch away from his left eyebrow and stretching horizontally into his hairline. 

“Where’d this come from?” Stiles asked, flicking a finger toward it without touching. 

“Silver bullet,” he mumbled. “It was coated in wolfsbane, and we couldn’t get it cleaned quickly enough.” He finished the stitches and sat back on his heels. He glanced toward Scott and sighed. “We got separated from Kira and Noshiko a while ago. We think they’re with Chris and Allison, but we don’t know.”

Stiles nodded. “That sucks,” he added awkwardly. 

He murmured an agreement. “I’m glad you guys caught up. Scott was a little terrifying when he thought you were all dead.” He jerked his shoulders. “I mean, I’m glad you’re alive, obviously, but…”

Stiles tried to picture that. “Terrifying? Really?”

“Cold, closed off.” He shrugged. “I’ve never seen him like that.”

Stiles grimaced. “Sounds like…” _Me._ Like he was protecting himself by acting like Stiles.

“It’s been a nightmare.” Isaac looked over the wrecked, bloody road separating Pack from OWH. “Neither side can advance. We keep going and they keep coming, but we can’t make progress.”

Stiles looked up as Scott and Cora approached. They’d left Erica and Boyd talking to Derek, while Laura spoke to Jessa and Nat hovered. 

Scott smiled at them. “So you look awful,” he said cheerily. 

Stiles snorted. “Yeah, well, I missed some beauty sleep.” He studied Scott’s face, the face he’d known his whole life, and tried to imagine it cold, closed off, terrifying. He just couldn’t. He sighed. “So, what’s next?”

“No idea, but Laura, Sofia, and Sen are handling that now.” Scott sat on Stiles’s left. “Where’d you go?”

“Hmm? Oh, you mean…well…” Since Cora looked interested, too, and Isaac was still leaning on his leg, he sighed and told them why he’d gotten separated during the ambush, and caught them up. 

When he finished, they reciprocated, telling him how the Alphas thought smaller groups would be more effective, and safer. Stiles listened with half an ear, watching the people around them. Reporters were creeping out of busted up buildings, questioning anyone who would tolerate them. 

Sara was leaning closer to one of them, her eyes gleaming a wet sort of gold. She was answering his questions, but Stiles couldn’t imagine they were coherent responses. Not with the manic expression on her face. 

Scott saw where Stiles’s gaze had strayed and swore. “Be right back.” 

Isaac sighed. “None of us can find Peter,” he said quietly. “He was keeping an eye on her, but when we split up, we lost him. Scott’s been trying to keep her in check, but she’s…” He shrugged. 

Cora snorted. “She’s vicious on the battlefield, though.” She picked at mud on her boot. “Peter probably went to catch up with Mom.” She sounded like a hopeful child, her gaze carefully lowered. 

Stiles tapped his boot against hers, but she didn’t do more than nod in acknowledgment. 

Scott and Sara were arguing loudly enough that the reporter had scurried away to another group, apparently intimidated. 

Stiles sighed. “Should we go see what’s going on?”

“Sara has a plan,” Isaac murmured. “Scott doesn’t like it.” He didn’t look inclined to get any closer, and instead offered to help Melissa with the rest of the injured. 

Laura joined Scott a moment later, with Sofia and Jessa in tow. Laura’s face went white after a second of listening to Sara’s side. “Absolutely _not._ ” 

Derek glanced back at Stiles, then at the group.

“Let’s go,” Stiles breathed. He jumped up before anyone could tell him not to. 

“—completely out of the question, I’m sorry, Sara, we can’t allow it,” Laura continued.

Sara shook her head. “Look.” She took a deep breath. The wet glow of her eyes faded. “I’m not—right. I can’t control my shifts or my urges to—kill. Sometimes, I have moments of clarity. During those, I was going to do it anyway. This way, I can help our cause before I go.” 

Stiles realized with horror what she was suggesting. “You can’t-”

“It’s _my_ decision, tapper,” she snarled. “But if you all help me, I can do some good.” She jerked her chin in the direction where the OWH army was. “I can drive through the crowd and set off an explosive, take out enough of them to give us an edge.”

Laura swallowed with a click. “You can’t-” she tried.

Stiles grabbed her arm compulsively. 

Sara grinned. “Might be our side’s only chance of getting through.” 

Laura examined her face. “Fine,” she decided abruptly. 

“Laura!” Scott gasped. 

“She’s right,” Laura said stiffly. “It’s her decision, and it might be our only chance. It’ll have to be a large explosion.” 

Sofia nodded. “Got you covered. Win’s probably got something that’ll work.”

“Get it. Sara.” Laura stared into her face for a moment. “If you change your mind-”

“Won’t.”

“But if you do, we won’t care. We don’t want you to do this.” 

“But _I_ want to.” She smiled oddly, the same kind of off-kilter smile Brielle had. “I want to do this good thing before—before it gets worse and I can’t direct myself anymore.”

Laura nodded sharply. “Sofia, get the explosives ready. Scott, locate a vehicle we can stand to lose.”

“But-”

“ _Now._ ” 

Scott looked like he might argue more, like he’d gotten used to giving orders rather than taking them. His nostrils flared and he backed down, nodding. He turned on his heel and walked away.

Derek slipped his hand in Stiles’s. 

How much longer would it have taken for Derek to end up like Sara? If they hadn’t have found the cure for another week or month, would Derek be the way Sara was? Or was it because she’d become that way naturally, after being bitten? Did that mean that Heather could have turned out like this, or Jackson or the rest? Was it pure chance?

“Stop,” he muttered to himself. He jerked back when Sara leaned into his space. 

“If you see Adam, tell him I chose this,” she said seriously. “He’s the only family I have, and he’s going to be upset, but at least he’ll know.”

“Alright.”

She nodded and wandered away. She found Sofia and began to follow her. 

Stiles looked at Derek, whose horrified expression probably matched his own. He couldn’t find words, though, as his mind felt evenly split. On the one hand, this was horrifying, this was a _person_. They were letting a person go in there and blow herself up to give them an edge. It was different than when they were fighting, because they were all going in together. Any one of them could die then. This, sending a lone person knowingly to her death, it felt wrong. But, on the other side, it might be their only chance to get through.

“Stiles,” Sofia called. “Luis says you have experience with explosives. I need your help, I only have two hands, and Win is in no shape to do this.” 

Stiles took a half step back, sickened. 

Sara stared at him over Sofia’s shoulder, her eyes blazing with either madness or excitement, he couldn’t tell.

Derek nudged him. “Just go, before Laura loses it.” He nodded at her, where she was shouting at a determined but frightened group of reporters. 

Stiles cringed. “I don’t think we should do this,” he whispered. He didn’t think he should get involved directly, he didn’t think it should happen at all and, god, he didn’t want to look at Derek’s face once it was done.

“I think we have to,” Derek said slowly. “Even though I don’t think Sara should be making decisions like this, when she’s not in her right mind, I think that if we don’t, she’ll do it anyway.” 

“I will!” Sara called merrily.

Sofia sighed. “Will you help me or not? We only have so much time.”

“Fine.” Stiles had done worse. This was child’s play compared to that.

He helped Sofia rig up powerful explosives in the blue Subaru Forester Scott had found for them. Derek and Laura managed to keep the reporters away by agreeing to do short interviews as the children of Alpha Talia Hale. That kept them plenty busy.

Sara hovered. She seemed to swing wildly from gleeful to impatient, her breath hot on the backs of their necks while they worked.

No one told her to stop. How could they, when she was volunteering to die so they had a chance? It made Stiles sick just to think about. They were supposed to be the good guys, standing up for what was right, protecting the defenseless. How had that become…this?

Laura seemed to be having the same line of thoughts. After they’d finished and Sara was trying to get into the driver’s seat, she stopped her, stepping in her way and not allowing Sofia to hand over the detonator. “No. No, I’m sorry, I can’t let you do this.” She grabbed her arm when she tried to walk around her.

“ _Move_ ,” Sara snarled. 

“ _No!_ This is—this is insane. This is wrong. We aren’t doing this. We can’t. I can’t.”

Sara snapped her fangs in Laura’s face, nearly connecting with her nose. 

Laura jerked away and growled instinctively, her eye flaring gold.

“Do you know what total war is, Laura Hale?” Sara asked in a dangerous tone. Before Laura could attempt to answer, she said, “It’s this.” She flung her arms out. “We’re in it. A war with no regard to civilian life, a war that encompasses _everything_.”

Laura tried to speak, but Sara threw up a hand. 

“You have a responsibility, as a leader. Total war means that if someone presents you with a possibility for an advantage, _any advantage_ , you take it. So shut the fuck up, get off your moral high horse, and let me go.”

Laura’s gaze traveled over her face. “And if I don’t?”

“Then I’ll move you myself, but everyone will witness that you don’t have what it takes to lead them to victory.”

Laura bared her teeth.

Sara brushed past her without difficulty and got into the car. 

Sofia nodded at Laura.

“Alright.” She cleared her throat. “Alright. Scott, Sofia, guys. Get all combatives ready. Once Sara has…finished…we need to strike while they’re disoriented. Get Stacy to pass out earplugs for the supes. Let’s go.” 

Stiles and Derek stuck together while gathering people. They’d gone through too much hell to voluntarily separate. 

Melissa wasn’t happy about the news. “You’re _all_ still injured or healing, everyone is exhausted. This is a terrible plan.”

“It’s the only one we’ve got,” Laura said tiredly. “We have to push forward.”

Melissa crossed her arms. “Fine.” She turned. “Let’s get what we can packed up!” she called to the rest of the medics. 

“Thank you, Melissa,” Laura said pointedly. 

“I just want this over.”

“Us, too.” Laura left to gather more soldiers.

Stiles pulled his gear on. It was deep in the night, and most of the street lamps were broken, so there was minimal light to see by. He buckled his vest and checked his guns for ammo, his sheaths for knives, and pouches for spare ammunition. 

 

The explosion, even from several hundred yards away, rocked the ground and lit up the world; first white, then fiery orange. It was deafening, and all of the supernaturals covered their ears in defense, despite their ear plugs. 

“ _Move!_ ” Laura ordered, and led the charge. 

Hundreds of hunters had been killed by the blast, more stunned, and they took advantage of that. 

Stiles used his knives while they were still too stunned to fight back. He cut and stabbed until his hands were slick with blood. At the first barrage of gunfire, he sheathed his knives and pulled his rifle in front of him. 

The sun was creeping over the horizon. They were still fighting. 

“Gonna rain,” Derek said, and opened fire on three approaching hunters. 

Rain poured over their heads, turned the battlefield into a sucking, slippery minefield. Stiles was so exhausted he couldn’t believe he managed to keep fighting. 

A hunter slammed into him from behind. They fell with a splash.

Stiles’s leg throbbed where her knee had slammed into the back of his thigh. He threw his head back, smashing it against her nose. He twisted, slipping in the mud until he was on his back. He slashed at her.

She flinched. The knife gashed down her collarbone instead of across her throat.

Stiles’s vision was swimming. He shoved his sidearm against her head and shot. Hot blood mixed with the rain on his face. He let his head fall back in the mud, panting.

Someone screamed; gunfire drowned out the pouring rain for a brief moment. 

He thought if he got up, his bones might shatter. 

He pushed the body off to the side and pushed up to his knees. He’d lost sight of Derek and Nat, of Cora and Isaac and even Scott. He couldn’t see Laura in the mess, or Erica, Boyd. No one. Just enemies, everywhere.

His throbbing leg shook as he got to his feet, his boot sliding through the mud, but he made it, barely. 

A hunter pulled up short in front of him, looking badly startled. Maybe he’d thought Stiles was dead. 

Stiles shot first and by some miracle got him in the face. He moved on, following the sound of howling.

A hunter grabbed the muzzle of his gun and thrust it off to the side. He punched out while Stiles was off balance; pain burst in his cheek. 

He jerked away and yanked his knife out. Slashed his arm open. His throat.

Behind him, something snarled, low and grating like death had climbed through the veil personally. A wet tearing noise but no pain gave him the courage to spin around.

The shadowy hound was ripping a hunter apart with its jaws; the earth around its enormous paws was scorched and dry despite the rain.

“Jordan?” Stiles asked with disbelief. 

The beast snorted and dropped its kill, and left Stiles standing there.

He wiped his eyes and shook himself. He’d fallen behind, and, while the hunters’ numbers were incredibly thinned from the explosion and attack, he still had plenty to do. He rolled his neck and ran to catch up, ignoring the pain in his leg by sheer will. There was still more to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> //Sara, who never fully recovered from being 'rabid', offers to rig a vehicle with explosives and drives into the crowd of OWH fighters. No major characters die. <3


	22. Chapter 22

Stiles was going to get out and start walking if one more person started lecturing him about fighting on an injury. Scott and Melissa had both gotten to him already, and he could see Isaac headed his way up the bus aisle.

“Relax,” Derek ordered. “He’s just bringing you a new ice pack.”

“It’s still cold,” Stiles muttered. He reached under his bruised leg to feel at the old ice pack. It was…maybe a little warmer than it could’ve been. He supposed a new one couldn’t hurt. “Where are we?” he asked to distract himself.

“Pennsylvania,” Jordan responded. He was in the seat across the aisle from theirs. 

Stiles still wasn’t sure what to think of his shifted form. “Who’s supposed to be here?” he asked.

Jordan shook his head. “Not sure.”

“Alpha Banner,” Scott said. He was with Cora in the seat in front of them. “She split off with a small group. We think she’s trying to avoid the other Alphas, but she did agree when Alpha Ito told her to go to Pittsburgh.”

“Huh.”

Isaac leaned over the seat. “Stiles, take your ice pack off.”

Stiles sighed and pulled the melty pack out from under his leg. 

Isaac looked at Derek. “Wait an hour before you crack this and give it to him, okay?”

“I can do it myself.”

“You were bleeding in four places,” Isaac said flatly. He looked back at Derek. “Don’t let him ice it before then or he could damage his leg further.” He went back to his seat with the other medics.

“It was the _adrenaline!_ ” Stiles crossed his arms, winced, and immediately uncrossed them. “Do you all think I _want_ to feel like I got worked over by a meat tenderizer?” 

“No. But none of us like to see you hurt, either.” Derek kissed his cheek. “How’s your leg doing, anyway?”

“It’s just a bruise.”

“A deep bruise that had you limping and pouring sweat by the time we were done.”

“Hence the ice packs.” He leaned his head on Derek’s shoulder. He squeezed his eyes shut for a second. It had been only a day since the explosion in Cincinnati, and he couldn’t stop thinking of Sara. 

They’d found the wreckage of the vehicle, but couldn’t get close enough to see…her. The blast was so powerful that there likely wasn’t much in the way of remains, according to Sofia, who’d spoken to Win about it.

Stiles squeezed his fists. 

“Hey.” A light tap on his shoulder had him looking up. “Are you going to eat that?” Nat asked, pointing at the almond protein bar in Stiles’s lap.

“Nah, here.” He passed it back to her, looking over her face. She had a black eye and split lip, along with bruises across her face from the fight; she’d gotten hit with a silver chain when Derek’s back was turned. 

“Thanks.” She thumped back in her seat; she was behind them, sitting with Jessa and across the aisle from Boyd and Erica. She’d only started to speak to Stiles again about an hour ago, she’d been so mad. 

“What do you think Brielle is tracking?” Derek asked quietly.

“ _Who_. She’ll be tracking Kate Argent.” Stiles looked at him. “She’ll be trying to kill her. Might have already done it.” 

“She hasn’t,” Nat said confidently. She hooked her elbows over the top of their seat to peer down at them. “If she had, we’d know about it, because the hunters would be _pissed_. They’d be talking about it. So would the reporters, you know?” She broke off the bottom, unbitten half of the protein bar and held it out to Derek.

He took it slowly. “You’re right. Wonder what’s taking her so long, though.”

“Kate’s vicious,” Stiles said. “Bet Gerard gave her plenty of soldiers to command. It’d be hard for anyone to get to her.” He stared at his lap and wondered if this would ever be over. 

 

They found another group three hours later. It was smaller than both Laura and Scott’s groups had been and, though Brielle was there, she wasn’t leading it. Kira and her mother were.

“Kira!” Scott howled, leaping out of the still-moving bus. 

Stiles watched them from the window; he couldn’t help smiling as they gripped each other, their embrace at once tight and tender. 

Derek kissed the edge of Stiles’s jaw as they watched. 

“Have you guys been fighting?” Laura asked Noshiko once the bus and other vehicles had emptied. 

“Mostly we’ve been keeping them from advancing west, and…” Noshiko nodded at Brielle. “She’s trying to get through to kill Kate Argent.” 

“Right. Good. You’ve got us now, and we can help.”

“We have to get through this group, then we’re heading to DC.”

Stiles’s heart skipped. “Really?”

She nodded. “The rest are gathered there. And keeping the borders heavily guarded, but the important thing is killing the leaders. That’s Gerard, Victoria, and Kate Argent, Karen Martell, Amy Gallois, and Michael Gallois—the vice president,” she recited as if she’d been using the list as a mantra. “The one who stepped aside and let them kill the president.” She looked at Laura, Sofia, and Sen, who were standing around her in a half circle, geared up and ready for war. “Talia, Yolanda, and Satomi were heading that way. They should be there already, but we won’t know until we get there ourselves.”

“Alright. Let’s get started.” 

Brielle perked up at the sound of that. “Oh, yes.” 

“No,” Noshiko snapped. “Sit down. We will use every advantage we have. Right now, you’re all tired, and they’re unaware that we have help. They’re waiting for us to attack again. I suggest everyone get some sleep. We’ve been using these buildings so we aren’t lying out in the open.” She gestured around them. “This way you’ll be ready when it’s time.”

Laura stared at her. “Okay.” She lifted her voice a little. “You heard her! We sleep, then we fight!” 

“Has anyone, um. Has anyone seen John and Claudia Stilinski?” Stiles asked hoarsely.

“Last I heard, they were fighting with the Alphas,” Noshiko replied. She was looking at a map on her table, which she’d drawn on.

“Oh. Thank you.”

 

Derek and Stiles bunked down in an abandoned pharmacy. Everyone else had gone straight to the hotels across the street, the Bed, Bath, and Beyond down the road, but they wanted to be alone, so they went to the pharmacy. It didn’t have any beds or anything, so they were the only ones there.

Laura had taken one look at their faces and steered Nat away before she could follow them, as she tended to; she was happy enough to go with Laura anywhere, so she didn’t protest. 

Derek dropped his bag in the health and wellness aisle.

Stiles studied him in the dim emergency lighting. 

The power was sort of on, but people had evacuated to get out of the way of the fight, so things weren’t in the best shape.

Derek’s hair was greasy and probably sweaty, probably had some blood in it; he had mud on his jaw that he’d missed with the wet wipes, and he looked tired. 

“I love you,” Stiles told him.

He smiled. “I love you, too.” He picked up two bottles of 3-in-1 soap. “Want to see if the water is running?”

“I love you even more now.”

He laughed.

The water was indeed running. They’d have been better off going to one of the hotels deeper in the city to use a shower, but they had privacy here, which was better than any convenient shower. They used cups and helped each other wash using the sinks in the bathroom. Then they ate stale Funyuns in the health aisle, sitting in their boxers while their clothes dried from the quick scrub they’d given them after they’d cleaned up themselves. 

“I’m gonna brush my teeth after this,” Stiles mumbled. “It’s gonna be great.”

Derek smiled at him. “Good. Me, too.” 

While he was brushing his teeth, Stiles wandered the aisles, careful of broken glass. He hesitated when he found a bottle of lube on the shelf. He grabbed it.

“What’d you take?” Derek called.

“Hang on!” Stiles finished brushing his teeth and went to the aisle where they’d set up their sleeping mats and the cheap throw blankets the pharmacy had on their shelves. He tossed the lube to Derek, who caught it.

He studied it, tipped his head. “Want to?”

“Yeah. I want to feel you inside me.” Stiles dropped to his knees on the edge of the pad they’d made.

Derek looked surprised. “Really?”

“Yeah.” He situated himself on Derek’s lap. “Yeah, before we fight tomorrow.”

“If that’s what you want.”

“I do. Do you?”

Derek started kissing the side of his neck. “Yes.” He dug his fingers into Stiles’s thighs, making him sigh shakily. “Get these off, then.”

Stiles scrambled up to take his boxers off, watching as Derek pulled his own off. He nudged him back. “Wanna ride you,” he panted. 

Derek stretched out on his back obligingly, watching Stiles with hooded, intense eyes. 

He went hot all over. He couldn’t say what started it, but now he couldn’t stop; he wanted to feel Derek’s skin under his hands, wanted to taste him, to know the shape and feel of him, fresh in his memory before they fought again. Each fight could be the last, and by god, he was going to feel this once more before that.

Derek’s hands convulsed on his hips as he took him inside, after working himself open, but he didn’t pull him down or move; he wanted this to last as much as Stiles did.

Stiles sat for a moment, braced and panting, until he couldn’t take it anymore. He rocked his hips and gasped when Derek rolled his own to match him, groaning. Stiles leaned forward to kiss his throat, to lick the bead of sweat forming over his rapid pulse.

He braced his palms on Derek’s chest, digging his fingertips in until the skin turned white around them and twisting his hips. 

Derek’s claws scraped over his skin, the gold of his eyes glowing in the dark as he pressed his head back, panting out his pleasure. 

“I love you,” Stiles said again, breathing hard. He flicked his tongue out, licking sweat from his own lip.

Derek growled and lifted him, then pulled him back down, drawing a high whine from his throat as he angled himself just right.

His arms were shaking and he couldn’t keep his head up, kept dropping it back on his shoulders, but he managed to hold on while Derek took over setting the pace. 

 

They curled up close to each other, and Derek ran his fingers gently over each bruise and cut, murmuring worriedly over them. 

“’m okay,” he mumbled.

“I cut you.” He pressed his hand over Stiles’s hip where, admittedly, he could feel a vague sting.

“Not badly. I’ve had worse. From you, actually.” He lifted his head to smirk at him, then sighed when he saw his face. “Can’t you just enjoy without the angst?”

“No.” He sat up, dislodging Stiles and making him grumble. “You’re injured already. I should’ve been more careful.”

Stiles rolled his eyes and turned on his back, stretching languidly. He felt warm and well-used, his brain tired enough that he couldn’t feel terrified of what was coming. He smiled to himself when he felt Derek’s gaze traveling over him. He stretched again, slower, shifting his hips against the blankets. 

Derek’s palm slid over his stomach. He sighed. “Alright, you look fine.”

Stiles looked at him, eyes half-lidded. “Only fine?”

Derek’s breath hitched just slightly. “You always look good to me,” he said gruffly. He moved his hand lower, sliding over his hip.

Stiles smirked, rolling his shoulders and amping up for round two—and froze. “Derek!”

“You’re in pain!” He didn’t pull his hand away, drawing the extremely minor pain from the tiny scratches and bruises. 

Stiles pushed his hand off. “Stop. I’m fine. You didn’t hurt me.” He sat up and frowned at him. “Why are you upset?”

Derek shrugged. “I just—don’t want you to get hurt because of this.”

“Ah, well. Rest assured, tiny love scratches will be the least of my concerns while I’m getting shot at.” 

“Oh my god.”

Stiles smiled. “Come here. We should get some sleep.” He laid back.

After a moment, Derek laid with him, resting his cheek on his chest and getting comfortable. 

 

Morning came too soon. Laura, Noshiko, and the other self-appointed leaders had come up with a plan. The hunters were ready to fight, but they had snipers and others in buildings, ready to attack from the sides and the back while the Pack army came straight at the rest of them. They’d been using their numbers to their advantage, and now the Pack had numbers to match them. 

So they were sending teams into the occupied buildings while the bulk of the Pack went at the hunters head on. Stiles and his team were sent into a building near the center of the fight. They were together again, Scott, Cora, Erica, Stiles, and Derek, with Laura at their front. Nat came with because she wouldn’t stay behind, even though Laura was not happy about it.

When Laura broke the employees-only door open, it felt just like old times. 

It was dark inside, only dimly lit by far away emergency lights.

Laura leaped forward and snapped the neck of the guard before he could get a shot off. “We’re splitting up. Cora, Scott, this floor. Derek, Erica, second. Stiles, you-” She hesitated, glancing at Nat. “Is your full name Natalie?”

She blinked at her. “Do I _look_ like a Natalie to you?”

Laura snapped, “You look like a snotty teenager to me.”

She straightened her shoulders. “It’s Natsumi. It was on my stuff when I got old enough to read,” she muttered at Stiles when he glanced at her. 

“Right. Stiles, you and Nat will come with me to the third floor. Move. Now.”

Stiles followed Erica, Derek, and Laura up the stairwell while Cora and Scott split off. 

Nat elbowed him lightly. “Why’d she want my name?” she mumbled.

“I don’t know.” He had no idea why Laura would want to know. He did know she wasn’t happy that Nat was along. Maybe she wanted her full name in case she went into shock or something. “Just do what she says and stay close to me.”

“Definitely.”

The third floor was a mess, broken glass and office equipment littering the hallway, but it also held most of the snipers. Stiles and Laura came to the silent agreement to use their knives. They left Nat guarding the door of the stairwell.

Stiles crept up behind the first sniper, positioned in a window. He grabbed his face, pulled his head back, and cut his throat before he could make a sound. 

He left the body slumped at the window and moved on to the next. He’d killed three when he heard someone gasp behind him. He turned sharply, lifting his sidearm to fire almost before he realized it was in his hand.

A teenager had walked out of one of the rooms Stiles had passed and, spotting the blood, gave himself away. 

Stiles’s gun was out, but—he was aiming at a child. His hand shook. He brought his other hand up, cupping the bottom of the gun to steady his grip.

The boy was aiming at him, too, a trembling pistol in his hands. 

“Drop the gun,” Stiles ordered. “Just drop the gun and walk away.” God. God. He didn’t want to shoot this kid. He didn’t want to shoot any kid.

“You’re human!” he cried, far too loud. “Why are you helping _them?_ ”

Stiles shook his head. “Drop your gun!”

A shot rang out; pain bloomed and Stiles stumbled back as the bullet struck his vest. 

Another shot, but no pain. The boy collapsed, leaving Nat standing in his place, panting. “Stiles! Oh, no, he shot you, I’m sorry, I tried to get here faster!”

Stiles shook his head, too winded to reply. He pressed a hand to his ribs, trying to suck in a breath. 

Laura stomped up behind him. “ _What happened to quiet_?” 

“He got shot!” Nat snapped at the top of her voice.

Stiles appreciated her standing up to her crush for him, even if Laura might shred her. He tried to step between them, but couldn’t manage. “He was a kid, Laura—like sixteen, seventeen?” he wheezed. “I froze. Nat handled it.”

She stared at him. “We don’t have _time_ to save them, Stiles,” she said in this wrecked, despairing voice that wrenched Stiles’s heart. “We can barely save ourselves right now.” 

He nodded, wincing. “I know. I know, I’m sorry.” He straightened up with an effort, still trying to get his breath back.

From the open window, a cry rose up, followed by an enormous crash, and then gunfire. 

“Let’s finish in here, then we’ll head out there.” Laura spun around as a hunter ran up behind her. She ripped his gun out of his hands and hit him in the face with it, then shot him.

Nat had hearts in her eyes again.

Stiles grabbed her arm. “Help me find the last four, bud. ’Kay?”

She nodded and, to his surprise, focused really well. She listened to each room and pointed out where the hunters were. They killed them before they knew they were coming. 

Derek met them on the stairs; he had blood on his face and a fierce look in his eyes. His nostrils flared. “You were shot.”

“In the vest. I’m okay.”

“You’re bruised.”

“So?” Stiles nudged him until he moved. “We’ve got to go. They’re fighting out there.”

Laura stepped around him, glancing at Derek. “You hurt?”

He shook his head. “Not mine.”

“Alright. Erica, I want you to lead the way outside. Scott and Cora will fall in behind you.” 

“You got it, boss.”

The fight was loud, it was always loud, always a mess, fast and slow at the same time. 

Stiles joined the Pack’s ranks and lined up to fight. His vest was compromised, his ribs hurt, and he was tired, but as adrenaline coursed cold through him, he couldn’t care. He faced his first opponent the same as he always had. They were fighting so close it was amazing he hadn’t been shot, but at the same time, it made sense. They were too close together, getting in each other’s way. Bullets struck pavement more than flesh, going wild as they jostled each other, fighting as close as they were. 

Stiles was scared he was going to hit one of his teammates, but the hunters didn’t have any such concerns; they were shooting wildly. 

Stiles saw someone aiming at Scott and lunged instinctively. He collided hard with the hunter; the gun went off. He twisted, still tangled with the hunter, to see Scott wincing, but upright—the bullet had struck his vest.

The hunter jerked his elbow back, slamming it into his nose.

Blood spurted from his nostrils. He snaked forward and grabbed the hunter’s ear, pulling it until he screamed and blood popped to the surface. He twisted his arm free and punched him. While he was off balance, Stiles shot him. The bullet hit lower than he’d been expecting, going through his throat and leaving him gurgling on the ground. 

Something tore loudly behind him. Brielle was spitting out blood and flesh when he turned. In response to his expression, she said, “He was going to shoot you.”

“Okay.”

She nodded, smiled, and leaped at the next person who came close enough.

They were making progress. There were markedly less hunters to fight with every minute. Wolves howled, and some vampires even joined in, though theirs were noticeably weaker, made with human vocal cords. 

Derek caught up to Stiles after they finished a big group, panting. He had blood around his mouth. He was telling him where Nat was when it happened; Stiles’s ears were ringing so badly from the gunfire that he didn’t even hear the shot. He just saw Derek knocked back, saw blood pour from a wound to the left of his vest, and his vision went red.

Isaac grabbed Derek before he fell, shouting orders at the medics.

Stiles spun and locked eyes with the shooter. He started toward him; when he shot, he didn’t flinch, and the bullet plowed the dirt at his feet. 

Whatever his face was doing made the hunter take a step back, then another. 

He caught him before he could run, tackling him straight to the ground. He bared his teeth and pinned his arms with his knees, punching him over and over and over…

Laura dragged him to his feet by the scruff of his neck, shaking him. “Stay on task!” she snarled. “He’s dead, you-” She stopped herself. “ _Look_. We’re almost there.” 

“You’re almost _nowhere,_ Patchy,” a smug voice said. 

Laura let Stiles go and turned. She bared her teeth. 

Kate Argent waved with her rifle. “Hey, there, doe eyes. Or should I call you Hannibal?” She grinned. “How’d you like being famous?”

Laura took a step forward, but Stiles caught her arm and shook his head. She eased back. 

Kate laughed. “Do you think you can use me to negotiate? We’re going to _destroy_ you, and put you all down like the filthy animals you are.”

“We’re past negotiating, Kate,” Stiles said, eerily calm. 

Something must’ve given it away; Kate turned sharply, lifting her gun to defend herself, but Brielle had already punched her fist through her ribcage. 

The sound made Stiles wince.

Laura jostled him. “ _Now_. Brielle is playing with her food.” 

Stiles grimaced, but she was right; Brielle had the most dangerous person in the field by the heart, so they had an opening. 

Stiles jogged to the rest of the fighters. He took a deep breath, convinced himself that Derek was fine, and dove in. 

Sometime in the mess, there was a break in the gunfire, a pause that freaked Stiles out. He pulled back, knife in hand, heaving for breath. He heard, “Kate’s _dead!_ ” and they were rushing each other again.

It was like a schoolyard fight this time; he got elbowed in the jaw, someone pulled his hair and grabbed his gun, flinging it away, to plow a fist into his face. 

He yanked his knives out and started slicing. The best part of being adept with them was that he could stab in the small places exposed by Kevlar, places even bullets found hard to reach. 

Someone saw his knives and smirked; he’d stabbed her through the throat before she stopped smiling. 

“Rabids!” someone cried, and Stiles went down under a vampire snapping fangs too close to his face. 

He twisted his legs around hers and heaved; they rolled, but she got on top again, nails digging into his shoulders. He drew a shuddering breath and reached for a knife tucked into his boot, ducking her bites. 

“ _Don’t!_ ” Someone landed on her back. 

Her teeth pierced Stiles’s neck. She jolted hard, digging her fangs deeper and making him cry out.

He flailed, trying to get free. 

The person who’d tackled her dragged her convulsing body off, ripping her fangs out of his neck painfully. “Oh, damn it, Stiles,” an exasperated voice sighed. He knelt beside him and applied pressure to his throat. “Can I get a vampire over here?”

“Yeah?”

Their voices sounded weird and high, like bells. Stiles couldn’t quite see them, and he couldn’t understand their voices. 

“Saliva—bleeding—blood—lick—stop-”

A swath of cottony warmth against his neck. He rolled his head and blinked. “Boyd,” he said fuzzily. “Did you just lick me?” Then he passed out.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Well, I hope you like this chapter. LMK what you think. I'll probably just go ahead and post the last chapter tomorrow. :/

“Don’t crowd him, he’s alright. He just needs a minute to wake up.” Something cold dripped on his face. “Wake up before they all freak out, won’t you?” he sighed.

“Shut-up, Peter,” Stiles slurred, trying to roll over and go back to sleep. His heart lurched. His eyes flew open. “Peter?” He tried to sit up, but Peter braced a hand on his bruised chest, keeping him down and winding him at once. 

“Stay down, would you?” he grumbled. “Your neck is still hurt.” 

“My neck… _my neck! You._ ” Stiles reached for the side of his throat, but only found bandages.

Peter frowned down at him. “Yes, me,” he said grimly. His hair was shot through with mud and blood, his face grimy, but he didn’t look injured. “I gave her the cure, and accidentally made her bite you.”

Stiles couldn’t see beyond him, but he could feel eyes on him. “You pushed her…” He grimaced at the memory of fangs piercing his neck. 

“Yes. I apologize. I have, however, brought darts filled with the cure, so you don’t have to kill the rabids.”

Stiles lifted his head enough to look around; he was in the back of some kind of truck, stretched out on a spring mattress. There were others in the truck with them. “Are we in a U-Haul?”

“Yes. We needed space for the injured. Derek,” Peter sighed. “Just come here.”

Derek shot over. “Hey.” He stroked Stiles’s hair. “How’re you feeling?”

“Confused. Are you okay? I saw you get shot.”

He nodded, tugging aside his shirt collar so Stiles could see the bandages. “It’s almost done healing.”

Stiles nodded, too. “How bad is my neck?”

“We thought you’d bled out, but Boyd…” He glanced at Peter. 

“Vampire saliva has a coagulant in it; their fangs have the opposite. I had him stop the bleeding,” Peter explained.

“He _did_ lick me.”

“Yes. To save your life.” Peter flicked his forehead. “We’re on the way to DC. Rest while you can.” 

Stiles leaned back and looked at Derek. “Wanna join me?”

He smiled and climbed carefully onto the bed, tucking himself up against Stiles’s side. He moved Stiles’s shirt and rested his palm against his stomach. The dull throb from his neck faded.

He kissed Derek’s head, the only part of him he could reach. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Derek murmured. “Just try not to do that again.”

“Same to you,” Stiles snorted. “You got shot. _While_ wearing Kevlar.”

Derek sighed heavily. 

Erica joined them after a moment, trailed closely by Nat. “Hey. How’s your neck?”

“Getting better, I think.” He tried to shrug and winced. He frowned at them. “Why are you guys here? Isn’t this for-”

Erica held up a heavily bandaged hand. “Wolfsbane coated knife. And goober child here burned her hands and arm on a silver chain.” 

She sniffed. “To hold a rabid in place while Peter injected him. And it worked, so take your judgment and _suck it._ ” 

Stiles laughed. 

Erica stuck her tongue out at her. “We’re all fine,” she said, squeezing Stiles’s ankle. “There were casualties, obviously, but.” She shrugged, reluctant to say _but no one we love is dead._

“Okay. Thanks.” He let his head settle back again. “Where’s Scott?”

“On the bus with Laura and everyone else who isn’t injured. Cora’s fine, Boyd’s fine—Isaac’s on here tending the injured with Melissa and Peter, of course.” 

Somewhere above Stiles’s head, Peter snorted. 

Erica sighed. “Peter’s mostly been tending you.”

“S’his fault,” Stiles mumbled. He was drifting off, warmed by Derek’s cuddling, and the knowledge that at least some of his family was safe.

 

A shout of, “Is that General Sawyer?!” roused Stiles from his slumber. 

“Yes!” 

He blinked and sat up. His whole right side ached from sleeping so stiffly and his injuries. Pain throbbed from the side of his neck.

Derek steadied him from behind.

The truck seemed to be somewhat better lit than before, natural light streaming in rather than weak lantern light. “Who’s yelling?” he mumbled, pressing a hand to the side of his neck.

“Erica. She opened the back of the truck. I think we’ve made it to DC.” 

Stiles’s eyes opened all the way. “We did?”

Derek nodded. “There’s a radio playing, listing deaths of big OWH names. They announced Kate Argent, and we’ve heard some explosions. The hunters are pissed.”

“Good.”

“Laura’s going to speak to General Sawyer, see where everyone is.” He swept his hand up and down Stiles’s neck. “Your neck is still-”

“I can’t stay behind, Derek,” he said quietly. 

Derek sighed. “It was worth a shot.”

He shrugged and looked down at his legs. 

Nat was asleep across his shins; her hands looked healed. 

Derek followed his gaze. “Yeah, I don’t think she’ll stay behind, either.”

Stiles leaned his head back against Derek’s shoulder. “Is it weird that she looks basically twelve to me?”

“You’re ten years older than her.” Derek shrugged. 

“Ugh, can’t we just lock her in a hotel or something? Kids shouldn’t be out here.” Stiles grimaced, recalling the face of the boy who’d shot his vest. He had bruises across his chest from that, but all he could think was that that child was dead. 

He was a bigot, fighting on the side of people trying to kill Stiles’s family, but he was a _kid_. He had time to change. Would have had.

Derek kissed the top of his head. “They shouldn’t, but we can’t lock her anywhere. She’d just pick the lock and follow us.”

Stiles laughed. “Yeah, probably.” He shouldn’t have felt a little swell of pride about that, probably, but he did. He turned his head a little to nuzzle under Derek’s jaw.

 

General Sawyer spoke to Laura first, while everyone else got ready. They were reaching the end, and they could all feel it. 

Melissa tried to get Stiles to stay with the others who were too injured to fight. “You could lose a lot of blood and die if something goes wrong. It’s—you’re—” She swiped impatiently at her eyes. 

“Nothing is going to go wrong,” Stiles assured her. He had one eye on Scott over her shoulder, but he was giving Stiles a kind of _you’re on your own, pal_ look. He was no help. “I’ll be fine. I _am_ fine.” 

“Oh, stop it, you’d say you were fine as long as you could hold a gun,” she snapped. With a little, hitching sob, she grabbed him in a rough hug. “All of you are going, all my kids, and you’re injured—and human.” She squeezed a little, mindful of his wounds, and leaned back. Her cheeks were wet, and Stiles’s heart ached. “I wish I could keep you all safe, here, with me.” 

“I’m sorry, Mel, I…” But he couldn’t finish that sentence. He couldn’t stay here. Couldn’t leave the Pack down even one capable fighter. Couldn’t let them go without him. 

“I know.” She wiped her face. “Where’s Derek? I’m going to hug him, too.” 

Stiles smiled weakly and stepped back, then went and punched Scott’s shoulder. “Thanks for the back up, you dick!”

Scott’s eyes rounded innocently. “She was upset! She just wanted to say bye!”

“Bye! She _cried!_ ”

“Of course she did,” he scolded. “She loves you. She doesn’t want you to die, but she knows you could.”

“We all could,” Stiles mumbled. He stamped his feet. “Ugh, why is it so _cold_?”

“Because it’s winter. Shush.” He elbowed him lightly. 

Cora was hovering by Peter, who was standing by a frankly illogical trunk full of dart guns, passing them out to people as they neared him.

Stiles wandered to them. “Okay, _how_?”

“Where did you think I disappeared to?” Peter asked scornfully.

“We thought you died,” Cora said. “Don’t be a jerk. We were worried.”

Peter handed Stiles one of the guns. “Shoot the rabids with this.”

“How did you even-”

“I used an abandoned OWH lab. There are plenty,” he said bitterly. “I just broke in and got work.” 

“Why?” Cora asked. “Why not just stay with us?”

“Because,” his voice dropped to a pained sort of growl, “I realized that we had no way to contain rabids, or sedate them, so our only option was to kill them. And I realized that the OWH would use the serum as a weapon eventually. I didn’t want our only option to be to kill each other.” He handed a gun to another person in line and nodded. “Rabids,” he explained when she looked confused.

“You big softy,” Cora teased, but Stiles understood: Peter didn’t want one of his nieces, his nephew, or his sister to die because there was no other option. Peter was like Stiles; they would do anything for the ones they loved. 

Peter straightened up. “So, where’s Sara?”

Stiles stiffened; Cora’s shoulders hunched. “She’s dead,” Stiles told him quickly, like ripping off a bandage. “She died giving us a way through, back in Cincinnati.” 

Peter nodded, staring down at the guns. “I see. I suspected…thanks.” He went back to handing out guns without ever turning to look at them.

Stiles glanced anxiously at Cora, who shook her head. 

Laura waved him over after a few tense minutes. “General Sawyer says your parents are nearby,” she said, her face bright. “They’re okay! They were with—who?” She looked back at Sawyer. 

“Ian. Talia went ahead with Satomi and Yolanda.” General Sawyer looked at Stiles. “What happened to your neck?”

“Rabid. Peter cured her.” He looked at Laura. “Where are they exactly?”

“Somewhere here. We’ll find them.” 

Derek came up behind him, touching the back of his arm. 

He turned, saw his face, and knew. “Where are they?”

 

Seeing John, alive and well, passing out water containers, made Stiles’s knees weak. He thought he might collapse straight down, but he found himself running instead. “Dad!” 

John turned. The expression of relief that crossed his face made Stiles’s throat burn. 

Stiles grabbed him around the shoulders and squeezed, letting out a low sob. 

John swept his hands up and down his back, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Boy, I thought-”

“I know. So did everyone else, I guess.” He sniffled and leaned back so he could see his face. “I got separated. Dad, I’m sorry I-”

“No.” John yanked him in again. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get to you.”

Stiles nodded against his shoulder. “Where’s…” He still didn’t know what to call her without upsetting him.

“She’s fine. Handing out food with Ian.” John turned so Stiles could see Claudia, giving MREs to a man with a **P** scar, standing next to Ian. “We’re regrouping, then we’ll hit them dead center. The Alphas are preparing to strike.”

Stiles nodded. “Dad, what happens after they’re dead?” he asked in an undertone. He’d been afraid to voice the question for so long that it seemed treasonous to speak the words. 

“The Pack pulls together, tells the remaining enemies to surrender or die. We finish cleaning up, and it’s over.”

It sounded cut and dry like that, but between each simple step was chaos and blood and death. _Surrender or die._ How many would keep going when their leaders were dead? They couldn’t stop people from being bigots, but they could ensure they didn’t have the freedom and power to hurt the people they were directing their hatred toward. 

“You okay?”

Stiles laughed. “I haven’t been okay for a while.” He took a deep breath. “But maybe soon.”

Claudia hugged Stiles, too; not as emotionally as John had, or for as long, but she was happy he was alive, and he was happy she was alive. That was enough. She hugged Derek, too, for longer.

Stiles didn’t resent it. He knew Claudia and Derek had a special sort of bond from saving each other’s lives, and Stiles was happy they had it. 

 

Peter’s timing with the cure and darts couldn’t have been better. There were more rabids in this group than the others; a whole wave of them attacked before any hunters even bothered. They flooded from vans and SUVs parked haphazardly in the field they were fighting on. 

Stiles fought side-to-side with Cora, who’d shifted to slip by to deal with the hunters, for a bit, and then with Scott when she and the rest of the wolves made it through. 

“Dude!” Scott gasped, yanking Stiles’s vest. A bullet whizzed by. 

“Thanks.” Stiles shook his head sharply and dove back in.

The OWH leaders had holed up in an easily defensible facility of their own making, and then surrounded the place with the bulk of their army: hunters and soldiers and rabids. 

They just had to get close enough to get to them.

Stiles shot a rabid kitsune with a dart, skipping back as she snarled and lunged.

Someone shoved him to the left, out of the path of a bullet. “Thank-” The words died on his lips.

Chris Argent nodded tersely at him and kept fighting. Just beyond him, Allison was fighting a hunter hand-to-hand, their guns lost at their feet. She had a **P** scarred on her right cheek. 

“Stiles!” John barked. “Focus!”

It snapped him to attention, just like it had during training. To the misfortune of the enemy, Stiles focused. 

War was loud on the outside: gunfire, explosions, screaming and death. It was loud on the inside, to some degree. But prolonged battle, the dump of adrenaline, somehow made things go quiet. Stiles had no sense of time or sound, could only see who was in front of him and react; he could only taste blood and smell smoke, felt only the flex and shift of muscle as he fought.

And then they were there; Stiles and his family, some others, within spitting distance of the building. They were still fighting, but they’d made it through to the other side. 

“Talia!” 

Stiles’s head snapped around.

Talia, Satomi, and Yolanda were fighting their way through the crowd, using mostly teeth and claws. 

The sight of his mother seemed to fortify Derek; he fought ferociously, clearing a path for the Alphas to reach them.

“Is this it?” John asked loudly. He was blood spattered and fierce, his expression hard in a way Stiles wasn’t used to. 

“This is it,” Satomi said. “Hold the line out here. We’ll have to fight whatever security they have inside, but we can’t do that if the whole army follows us in.”

“We’ll manage,” Laura growled. “You guys get them.” She faced the enemy forces and snarled. 

Talia smiled. “My baby girl,” she said fondly. 

Ian, still fighting next to Cora, let out an animal _roar_ , breaking a hunter’s neck swiftly. 

Someone in full combat gear stepped out of the building, making Stiles freeze up in shock. Victoria smirked at them and sealed the door behind her. 

Talia laughed. “They sent _you_ to negotiate?”

“Oh, no. They sent me to kill the Alphas.”

Claudia laughed this time. “Just go, Tally,” she said, slurring around her fangs. “I’ve got about twenty years to make up for with _Vicky._ ” 

For a split second, Victoria looked afraid; in the next, the two were on each other. Victoria may have been human, but she was trained specifically to kill werewolves and was holding her own.

“You guys have to go,” Stiles blurted. He glanced at the building. The walls and doors were plated with silver at least, wolfsbane possibly. “We’ll find a way-”

Satomi strode past them, stepping deftly around Ian, who was battling a soldier, and walked to the door. She studied it. “We’ll have to go through a wall. The door is solid silver. Walls are just plated.” 

“I can do it,” Yolanda said. Her hair was short and curly, streaked liberally with blood. 

“No. You’re young. We need you to be in fighting shape.” Satomi studied the wall.

Scott jostled Stiles, nodding at the fighting forces. “We should help!” 

He nodded. “Yeah, I-” A horrible _slam_ cut him off; he looked around and saw Satomi with her arm through the wall. 

Nat let out a cheer, banging up against Derek’s side before he steadied her and snapped at her to pay attention.

Claudia snarled; she was still on her feet, and so was Victoria, but the rest were hesitant to get between them to help.

John had no such qualms; while the Alphas used brute strength to break through the wall, he sprang forward. He locked his arms around Victoria’s shoulders and held her in place. 

Claudia didn’t hesitate; she slashed a knife across Victoria’s throat, spilling blood down her front. 

Stiles’s heart lurched.

Derek twisted around, gaze latching on Victoria’s body as she jerked in death. He grinned.

“Stay out here!” Talia commanded. 

They had made a sizeable hole in the wall; their hands were bloody and burned from the silver, but they climbed in steadily, still strong and fighting fit.

Stiles turned to the advancing army. He felt John and Claudia step up on either side of him. 

 

He wasn’t sure how long it’d been—minutes? Hours?—but suddenly people were screaming and stopping in place to stare behind them at the building. Stiles shot the hunter who’d stopped in front of him. He turned to look, too, and saw Talia throw a body from the hole she’d climbed in through. 

She picked the body up by the back of the neck and held it aloft.

Gerard Argent hung, limp and dead, in her grip.

Laura howled triumphantly; the others followed her, until the only thing Stiles could hear were victorious howls.

“ _No!_ ” Gunfire. Chaos. The fight started again, fueled by fury and triumph on either side. 

Derek grabbed Nat and flung her out of the path of a bullet; she slammed hard into Stiles’s side.

He steadied her. “You okay?” he panted.

She nodded, wiping blood from her eye. “Yeah. Look out!” 

Stiles turned and blocked; the knife glanced off his vest. 

The hunter snarled and lunged at him again. 

Stiles swung his arm out and down, locking it around the hunter’s elbow. With a sickening _crunch_ , the bone broke. Stiles released him and grabbed his knife, cutting his throat. 

“ _Yes!_ ” Nat roared from beside him.

He followed her gaze.

Satomi had joined Talia, holding the body of Vice President Michael Gallois aloft the way Talia had done with Gerard. 

Stiles lowered his knife, breathing hard. Victoria, Gerard, Kate, and Gallois were dead. He could only assume that Yolanda was dealing with Martell inside. 

“The OWH has fallen!” Talia boomed. She and Satomi threw their heads back and began to howl.

The hunters continued to fight. Of course they did. 

Satomi found a bullhorn and climbed atop one of their broken vehicles with Talia and Yolanda on either side of her. She began to speak. “Your leaders are dead,” she said. She repeated herself until the fighting slowed so they could listen. “The Pack has seized control. Stand down, or be killed.” She looked down at the Pack soldiers gathered around her makeshift podium and nodded.

Stiles flicked the safety off his gun and stalked back into the fight. 

By nightfall, it was over.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you, [rebekahdarian](http://archiveofourown.org/users/rebekahdarian), for all the help making this readable. See you in a couple weeks!

The borders reopened by midmorning the next day. Canada and Mexico immediately extended their hands to help, which, apparently, they’d been trying to do for months, but the hunters hadn’t allowed it. Their armies took care of the remaining diehards. Canada set up stations for food and first aid, and the Pack began organizing shelter. 

Stiles…couldn’t quite believe it was over. 

“Okay, you’re all stitched up,” the doctor helping him said. “Don’t get any of them wet for a few days, keep them covered when you wash up.” 

“Thanks,” he mumbled, hopping off the table. His legs shook, weakened by exhaustion, but he shook his head when Isaac lunged forward to help. “I’m okay.”

“Are you sure?” He looked anxious. 

Stiles glanced over at where Allison was helping patch someone up. “Yeah. You?”

Isaac’s face closed up a little. “Yeah. We’re not…we’ll be friends, but…” He shrugged. “It’s not…”

“Ah.” 

“It doesn’t matter,” he said tiredly. “She doesn’t hate werewolves, but after I got bit, she was always a little different around me. Now I know why, and that’s…” He made a face. 

“If that’s what you want.” Stiles leaned forward and hugged him, just because he could, because he was glad he was alive and was too tired to offer advice. 

Isaac hugged him back. “Derek’s waiting for you outside.”

Stiles nodded. “Thanks.” He wobbled his way outside, where Derek was pacing, arms crossed.

“You okay?” he murmured.

Stiles blinked at him. “I don’t know.” He looked at the stitches in his arm, the various cuts and grazes. “Physically, I’m fine.”

Derek nodded. “Okay. Want to go find everyone else?”

“Yes.”

They found John and Claudia first, in another medical tent. John was having his own arm stitched up while Claudia mopped blood from his brow. “Hey, boys.” His smile was small and tired. “How’re you doing?”

“Good. It’s…good.” Stiles swallowed dryly. 

“Exhausting,” Claudia said. She stepped back to examine her work, then turned to Stiles. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“You, too,” he said awkwardly, but she must have got the message, because she smiled at him. 

Scott walked in and beamed when he saw them. “Hey, John, Talia wants you out there.” 

He looked puzzled. “Why’s that?”

“She said she wants you to be an advisor at least.” Scott shrugged. “Whenever you’re able.”

Stiles glanced at Derek. “Want to go look for your dad?” he murmured.

He nodded.

They’d seen Ian bolting around while things were getting settled, but hadn’t been able to speak to him. He’d been caught up in organizing things.

He was dealing with lining people up for food and water, with Cora and Laura hovering around trying to talk to him.

“Dad!” Laura finally snapped.

He sighed and stopped in place, letting the other volunteers take over—or maybe take their jobs back. They looked a little disgruntled. 

“We just want to see you for a second,” Laura said, bad tempered. “We thought you were dead, and then you haven’t stopped to just take a breath-”

“And _I_ thought you were _all_ dead,” he said tiredly. “I just have to stay busy for a little while.” He relented, though, and hugged his girls; he spotted Stiles and Derek over Cora’s shoulder and squeezed his eyes shut. “Scott? Isaac?”

“They’re okay, Dad,” Cora said, easing back. “Isaac’s helping the medics with Melissa and,” her mouth twisted, “Allison, and Scott’s helping Mom round people up.”

Derek stepped up to hug Ian next, pressing his face into his neck and squeezing.

“Hey.” Heather hip-checked Stiles suddenly, startling him.

He gaped at her. “Hey. You made it.”

She snorted. “I’d be insulted by that if I wasn’t thinking the exact same thing about you.” She had stitches in the side of her face, surrounded by a myriad of bruises, but Stiles thought she’d never looked better.

“I don’t mind. I think at least half of the Pack thought I was dead.”

She tsked sympathetically. “You are unfortunately infamous.”

Stiles grimaced. “Yeah.”

“You don’t scare me, Stilinski. I saw you cry when Han Solo died in _The Force Awakens_ , there’s no coming back from that.” She winked at him. “See you later.”

“Later,” he replied faintly. 

“Stiles,” Ian called. “Come here, kid.” He drew him in for a hug when he was close enough. He rubbed his hand over the back of Stiles’s head. “Gotta get this shaved off at this point.” He tugged at the end of it and showed him his palm, reddened with dried blood.

Stiles laughed. “Might be easier.” He eased back and glanced at Laura. “Has anyone seen Erica?”

“Yeah, she’s that way with Boyd and Sen.” Cora pointed to where the vampires were feeding.

“Okay. We’ll see you later, alright?” Derek kissed each of his sisters on the cheek.

Laura rubbed her knuckles over Stiles’s head before they walked off.

Erica’s gaze swept both Derek and Stiles head to toe in the vaguely suggestive way she always had. “You both look like hell.”

“Yeah, well, so do you.”

She smiled and tucked her hair behind her ears; she had a closed wound on her neck. It was fading as they watched. “So, where’s your tail?” 

“What?” Stiles asked blankly. 

“She means Nat,” Boyd said, leaning up against her back. 

“Oh, she’s getting food,” Derek said. “Laura told her to eat and let you finish getting stitched up,” he told Stiles. 

“Ah.” He rubbed his face and grimaced at the dirt and grime he felt. “Can we grab some food, too?”

“Yeah. We’ve got a room at that hotel down the street. The closer ones are all filled up.” 

“We’re in this one,” Erica said, pointing across the street. “But we’ll see you guys after we get some sleep, okay?” Her eyes went bright with fear. “I don’t want to lose track of anyone, so don’t wander off too far.”

“We’ll call your room tomorrow, okay?” Derek assured her. “That way you’ll know where to find us.”

She nodded. “Good.”

“They’ve got the power up and running, so we should be comfortable in the room,” Derek said as they walked. He squeezed Stiles’s hand lightly. 

“Good,” he murmured. 

They walked shoulder-to-shoulder toward the food tent, shuffling into the long line. Stiles was amazed to see so many Pack and militia soldiers just…standing, as tired and dazed as he was. Further south, the Mexican army was dealing with the displaced civilians. Stiles was glad his part in this was mostly over. 

Derek nudged Stiles, nodding at a crowd in front of a makeshift stage set up in an empty road. 

A ton of reporters and soldiers had gathered around a flatbed truck, where Talia, Satomi, Yolanda, and Noshiko were answering questions. They looked somehow in control, despite being as filthy and bloody as the rest of them. 

Stiles knew what had to come next: rebuilding, remaking, electing leaders. There was a lot to do, still, but he just wanted to sleep. 

Derek took a loaded box of food and emergency supplies from the person in charge, thanked them, and gently led Stiles out of line.

Nat bumped into his other side. “Hey. Are we going to sleep now?”

“Yeah,” Derek replied. “We’ve got toothpaste, toothbrushes, soap—three of each. We’re going to wash up before we eat.”

She made a face at him. “Yes, sir,” she said mockingly.

Stiles snorted and elbowed her. “Be nice,” he mumbled.

Derek just sighed. 

They were on the fourth floor of the hotel; each hotel was being filled with exhausted fighters, so they had to use every single room. They were given a room with a king sized bed. Stiles wasn’t complaining; he was so tired he probably wouldn’t move an inch once he was horizontal. 

“Why don’t you shower first, Nat?” Derek suggested when they got to their room. He set the box of supplies on the little table near the door. 

She glanced between them, rolled her eyes, and grabbed the soaps she needed from the box. “Fine. But no funny business.” She pointed at them sharply with the shampoo and went to the bathroom.

Stiles sat on the chair facing the door. 

Derek dug through the box and passed him a packet of peanut butter crackers. “Eat.”

He sighed heavily. It seemed like too much effort to open the package, let alone move six crackers from hand to mouth. But he was hungry. If he ate now, he wouldn’t have to worry about his stomach waking him up later. He opened the crackers.

Derek was eating, too; beef jerky, it smelled like. “When you’re showering, I’ll go down and see what we can do about some clean clothes.”

“No. Don’t go alone.”

He sighed. “You’re dead on your feet, Stiles.”

“Don’t go alone.”

“I’ll take Nat with me. You just get clean. I’m pretty sure I saw them setting up a clothing area on Bruce Street.”

Stiles grimaced but couldn’t speak around a mouthful of cracker and peanut butter, so he just nodded. 

Nat emerged in a cloud of steam wearing her filthy clothes. “This is gross.”

“Good, then you’ll be happy to come along to get new clothes, I’m sure,” Derek said, standing up.

“Happy? I’m fucking ecstatic.”

“Watch your fucking mouth,” Stiles said, and she laughed.

“Knock it off,” Derek said, elbowing her and scowling at Stiles. As if _he_ was corrupting the kid.

“No, seriously, I’m thrilled. Especially to get you guys new clothes. Full offense, but you stink. Both of you.” She swiped a packet of crackers from the box. “Well? What’re we waiting for?”

Derek sighed heavily and rolled his eyes. “We’ll be right back, Stiles.”

He nodded. He could hear them bickering in the hallway as they left. It made him smile.

It felt scary, dropping his weapons on the clean white counter. Each layer of gear Stiles stripped off felt like a layer of skin peeled away. He felt exposed and vulnerable when he was done. 

He looked at himself in the mirror for the first time in a long time and barely recognized himself. His hair was too long, he needed a shave, there was blood and dirt and soot smeared all over his face. The jagged **P** scar was a visible bump under all of it. He touched fingertips to it and took a hitching breath. His chest was mottled with bruises and old cuts; he was going to be a mess even after he was clean.

Climbing into the shower was surreal.

Stiles turned the hot water on full blast and stood under it until his insides no longer felt cold and hollow. If he started crying, well, no one was there to see.

There was so much to do. Healing and mending. Learning how to live without violence. How to live with everything he’d done, everything that had been done to him. But they all had a future now, one where they wouldn’t have to fight for their lives or live in hiding. They had a chance now.

He was clean and wrapped in a towel when Derek and Nat returned. 

Nat took one look at his red rimmed eyes and fled to the closet to change. 

Derek didn’t ask what was wrong or if he was okay. He just gently pulled a gray sweatshirt over his head, working his arms through the sleeves without complaining when Stiles couldn’t manage more than a weak twitch in the way of helping. He helped him to his feet and kept him upright as he unknotted the towel, letting it fall straight to the floor. He ignored the protesting noise Stiles made and helped him into the black sweatpants, then eased him back onto the bed. He sat beside him and lifted his legs into his lap, sliding thick blue socks that felt too soft and luxurious over his feet. 

“Go,” Stiles said, taking a shaky breath. “Shower. We can sleep when you’re done.” He hated how congested he sounded, but couldn’t change it.

“Okay. I’ll be fast.” 

“You don’t have to be.”

Derek grabbed Stiles’s chin and lifted his face for a quick, soft kiss. “I’ll be fast,” he repeated. He grabbed the clothes he’d set on the bed and went into the bathroom.

Nat came out of the closet wearing a green shirt three sizes too big and black leggings, paired with bright purple socks that went halfway up her shins. She sat at the table and dug through the box until she found more jerky. “Want some?”

“No, thanks. You eat.” He wiped his face with the cuff of his sleeve.

She narrowed her eyes at him while she chewed. “Your mom is a werewolf. I met her.”

Stiles nodded.

“How come you’re human?”

“She was changed.”

“Ah. Cool.” She tucked her feet under her on the chair. “Derek said you don’t know her too well.”

“I don’t. We thought she died when I was four.”

She nodded. “Okay.” She kept eating. With her gaze lowered, she asked, “Do you know what’s gonna happen next?”

“No,” Stiles replied honestly.

She smiled a little. “But we’ll kick it in the ass, whatever it is, right?”

That managed to draw a short laugh from him. “Yeah.”

They were quiet when Derek emerged, clean and exhausted. He turned off the lamp beside the bed.

Stiles scooted back and flipped the covers so he could get under them; Derek flopped on his face to Stiles’s left, by the window.

A second later, the light by the table shut off. The bed to Stiles’s right dipped, so he scooted closer to Derek. Nat burrowed under the blankets, snatching a decorative pillow to cuddle.

Derek groaned into his own pillow. “I’m too young to have a fifteen year old.”

“Too bad,” Nat said, sounding delighted. 

Derek reached over Stiles to ruffle her hair, then left his arm draped over Stiles’s waist. He started snoring softly a second later. 

Stiles fell asleep before he could make fun of him about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhhhhh!!! It's donnneeeee!!! I hope you enjoyed it and that you'll let me know what you thought! Thanks for sticking with me for so long! Okay, a few things before we're gone: I've gotten so attached to this world that I may end up writing little future ficlets for it later on down the road! If you want to ask me questions about it or whatever else, I'm on tumblr [here](http://outtoshatter.tumblr.com/) and super friendly, I promise lmao. Annnnd I'll hopefully see you all again with my next project (either a cyborg au or domestic cuteness, it's a toss up)! Thank you allllll so much! <3


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